Pharmacology High
by Madeline Riya
Summary: John Watson and Sherlock Holmes come across a titillating new case. Tensions run high as both Sherlock and John vie for the affections of the bright, attractive American woman that has employed them. She has secrets that she doesn't want either of them to know. Ratded M for later chapters. Possibly trigger risk for mental health issues and suicidal behavior.
1. Chapter 1

The bell to 221B Baker Street buzzed loudly through the flat. Doctor John Watson had been sitting in his arm chair, reading medical journals, and trying to pass the time. They had quite a dry spell on interesting cases, and it was trying both his and his flat mate's patience. More so, his flat mate's. Sherlock Holmes, a tall, thin, lanky man was currently hanging upside down from the ceiling from a series of ropes and pullies. His face was beginning to redden, and his dark curly locks were fluttering underneath him.

"John! Did you not hear the bell? Answer it. It may be a client." Sherlock's voice was strained as he was adjusting some more ropes to alter his position.

"Oh, no, Sherlock. I really can't. I think you should get the door." John looked up from his medical journal with a smug smile on his face.

"Don't be idiotic, John. Get the door." Sherlock's tone was flat. The buzzer came a second time, slightly more impatient this time.

John got up from his seat, smiling and shaking his head at his flat mate. He hustled down the stairs not wanting to keep their guest waiting any longer. He opened the door. "Yes, can I he-" He stopped mid-sentence at the sight that greeted him.

Turning to meet his gaze was a tall, curvaceous woman in a flattering burgundy business suit. The skirt fit nicely around her shapely legs and John could tell she had extremely well-shaped hips. Her matching burgundy blazer was well-cut to her hour-glass figure. She wore an appropriate yet tempting black scoop neck top. She had long deep brown tresses that were held up in a clip. It was a casual hairstyle, but very alluring. Her face spoke of all business when John opened the door, but her hazel eyes hinted at something mischievous.

John let out a small gasp.

The woman extended her hand forcibly. "Doctor John Watson?" She was clearly American, judging by her accent.

"Yes. Yes I am. How can I help you?" He was trying to focus on her words and not her beauty.

"My name is Christiane Madrigal, and I would like your and Detective Holmes's assistant on a matter of international importance." She was extremely formal. Business all the way. But there was something different. No one ever acknowledged John's importance before. It was always "I need Sherlock Holmes." That's not what she said, though. She said she needed **him** and Sherlock. John lifted his head a little higher and puffed out his chest a little.

"Of course. Follow me, and we'll discuss the matter. Hopefully, we can be of some help." John didn't care what Sherlock said or what the case was, they were taking this one.

She followed him up the stairs, her high heels clicking softly on the stairs as they went.

"Where in America are you from?" John asked as they walked.

She chuckled, "am I that obvious?" John shrugged. "Philadelphia. Pennsylvania. I often work in New York City, though. Sometimes Washington, D.C."

"Well traveled." John retorted.

"I'm informed that you are, as well, Doctor Watson." John straightened his back at the reveal of information, but also at the tingle that shot through his spine at the way she said his name. It was like quicksilver. John thought for a second_: "a matter of international importance."_ This wasn't a trick of Mycroft's was it?

They opened the door to the flat, and John ushered Ms. Madrigal in, "We'll just get settled and ask a few questions to-" Christiane had taken a few steps into the flat and cocked her head to the side curiously. John stepped inside and realized why she stopped: Sherlock was still suspended from the ceiling.

"Oh….Hello." Sherlock waved from being upside down.

"…kinky…" Ms. Madrigal muttered under her breath. John whipped his head to her almost causing an injury, his jaw dropped. Sherlock just stared at her for a second, studying. Really not phased by the scene before her, Ms. Madrigal placed her briefcase to the side of the door, hung up her blazer on the hook, and walked up to Sherlock, still upside down and struggling slightly to undo his knot work. She extended her hand.

"Detective Sherlock Holmes. My name is Christiane Madrigal. I'm here to proposition you for a case." He took her hand and shook it awkwardly from upside down.

"Yes, I gathered. If you will just allow me a few moments to free myself, I will attend to your situation. I was simply –"

Ms. Madrigal cut him off, "testing the correlation between suspension and inverse blood flow to rate of loss of consciousness. Clearly."

Sherlock was at a loss for words. So was John whom was still standing by the door. No one ever understood Sherlock or his crazy experiments.

Ms. Madrigal leaned in closely to Sherlock, "And I hate to tell you Mr. Holmes, but if we don't get you down rather quickly? You'll be finding out your personal rate of loss of consciousness from inverse blood flow. I hope you've been keeping a timer." She pulled back and winked at him.

"How do you come to that-" Sherlock sudden felt a whoosh of dizziness and blurred vision come to his head. "Um, John…John!" Sherlock was pleading with some urgency. "Knife! Cut me down John. Now."

As John was grabbing a knife from the kitchen and about to run to the living room to cut down his detective friend, Ms. Madrigal held up a hand. She stepped back for second, studying the ropes.

"This is not a game, woman! John the knife!" Sherlock was holding his head. Ms. Madrigal started clicking her tongue. She reached above Sherlock and tugged on a few ropes. If Sherlock had his wits about him, he would have had a lovely view of her rump. After the third or fourth rope tug, Sherlock was falling rather rapidly from the ceiling. However, he was suddenly slowed as Ms. Madrigal guided him safely the rest of the way down until he was collapsed on the floor. His feet and legs were very much tangled in the ropes. But Sherlock was very much dizzy from the blood rush to his head. Sherlock thunked his head on the floor.

"Some juice would be good if you got it, dear, for poor Mr. Holmes here," she turned to wink at John standing in the kitchen doorway. She took a few steps towards him. "And I'll be needing that knife now, if you don't mind." John was still standing there with his mouth open.

Sherlock shot daggers at Ms. Madrigal. "You're an incorrigible woman."

_Did…Did she just outsmart Sherlock Holmes? In his own flat? At his own experiment? Who the hell is this woman, and can I marry her now? Can she at least move in and make my life peaceful. And oh my, did she do it with sex appeal._

"Um…Doctor Watson…" Ms. Madrigal was trying to get his attention.

"Hm? Yes?"

"The knife, please."

"Oh, right, the knife." He turned it and handed her the handle.

"And the juice for Mr. Holmes." John just turned and busied himself in the kitchen. "One more thing, Doctor Watson…" He turned his head over his shoulder to look at her while he poured the juice. "Keep your mouth closed or you'll let in flies." John coughed at that and spilled some juice on the counter. Grabbing a cloth, he cleaned it up immediately and brought the juice out to Sherlock.

"Thank you very much for impeding my escape, John!" Sherlock shouted from the floor. Ms. Madrigal sauntered over to Sherlock and gingerly knelt beside him, careful not to be indecent.

"I would have gotten down." Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms at his chest.

"Mhm…" Ms. Madrigal started cutting the ropes at the ankles with a firm hand planted on his shin.

"Don't patronize me! I know my own rigging!"

"Oh, I know you do…" Ms. Madrigal continued placating him and worked her way on the ropes.

"And I had it perfectly calculated so I would escape before I blacked out."

"Aww, I know. Bad luck." Ms. Madrigal made pouty faces while she inched further up his leg. Her hand was now resting on his thigh as she cut the ropes in between his knees. She applied slight pressure to the thigh as she adjusted her position on the floor, using him for leverage. It sent a jolt through Sherlock's lower half.

_This is an odd feeling. I've never had a physiological response to a female's touch like that before. That warrants further experimenting._

She noticed him lost in thought and that time did purposely squeeze his thigh. That time all the electricity centralized in his groin.

_Clearly, that's arousal. This woman arouses me. Why….My body is simple a vessel of transport. I do not give in to carnal pleasures. But she…..is intriguing. Much more so than Irene Adler. This woman is a solver like myself. Perhaps much better than myself. _

She squeezed again, noticing the distance in his eyes.

"Damnit, woman! I was trying to think."

"One: I have a name. Calling me 'woman' is exceptionally demeaning. I don't know about in England, but in America there was a Women's Rights movement, say about hundred years ago, 'kay? Two: I know. That's why I did it." She grinned at him, untangling the last of the ropes from his legs. She stood up with the assistance of the chair. And offered a hand to Sherlock. He refused it. Ms. Madrigal shrugged and instead pointed to the juice on the table.

As Sherlock was standing, shakily, Ms. Madrigal went to retrieve her briefcase from the other side of the room. She sat in Sherlock's chair and crossed her legs in front of her. Sherlock shot daggers at her again. She shrugged and made pouty faces at him. John came over and sat in his chair.

"Now….about my case…"


	2. Chapter 2

"_Now….about my case…"_

Sherlock was perched on the arm of the sofa, sipping his juice.

"No," was all he said. Ms. Madrigal smirked. _This is going to be fun working with Sherlock Holmes._

"What?! Sherlock! You haven't even heard the case." John exclaimed from his chair, straightening to the edge.

"I don't need to. Whatever it is, she clearly has the mental capacity to solve it on her own. Therefore, she does not need our assistance." Sherlock still had his arms crossed in front of his chest. "I assume you can see yourself out, Ms. Madrigal?"

She chuckled softly to herself.

"Something amusing?" Sherlock retorted, eyes flaring with rage. He did not take defeat well. He was a grudge barer in the worst way.

"Actually there is, Sherlock." His eyes widened at the sudden lack of formality. She could see his brain working to discern a pattern, a change, a system. Something. "Several things actually. First being, I very much do need your assistance. I already know that you haven't taken the time to observe me, but maybe neither of you thought to think: 'Hey, what's an American doing in London? And why is she coming to a British P.I. for her international case? Can't she just get an American Joe to do it?'" John and Sherlock looked at each other.

_Dear God, she's right. I was so engulfed in my experiment and then her defeating me that I didn't even observe her. _

Sherlock put the juice on the table and leaned forward, his hands pointedly under his chin. Ms. Madrigal stared with steely determination into his eyes.

_Business formal attire. Executive position. Well-tailored, form fitting. Accentuates body type. Uses gender to gain power in her field. A field not typically dominated by women. Casual hair style, pulled fully away from face. Short, manicured nails. No polish. No make-up. Mysterious dust on fingertips. Slight carpel tunnel. Frequently at a computer. Extremely toned calf muscles. Not a runner. Thick insoles in heels. On feet a lot. Medical professional? Brief case: durable. Pill vile outlines pressing through bag: Pharmacist. There's a Pharmacy convention in London for the duration of the week. She must be attending that. She must be on a temporary visa and thus unable to make any swaying movements to influence this case. She needs us for citizen and legal sway. _

Sherlock lowers his hands.

"Well, Mr. Holmes…Did you gather anything?" She held a self-satisfied smirk on her face. _Damn, he is interesting._

"I will grant you that you are an interesting enigma, Ms. Madrigal, but I was able to gather some crucial information from my observations." She waved her hand to indicate he had the floor. "You are currently on temporary visa as you are in London for the International Pharmaceutical Manufacturing Convention. With your executive ties to Pharmaceuticals, it's only logical you attend. You need me for the case seeing as you have not legal sway in this country not being a citizen, where as I, being Sherlock Holmes, have an immense amount."

"Good, Sherlock, but let me fix a few things for you." Sherlock was stunned. His deductions are always right. Always. "One: 'executive Pharmacist'? Really?! That's the best you have? I'm lead Project Pharmacist for the Northeast region of the F.D.A." Ms. Madrigal pauses for a second. "Alright, there's no way you would have gotten that. I'll give you exec Pharmacist." She chuckles and Sherlock has a smug, satisfied look on his face. Almost as if he's about to stick out his tongue at her. She rolls her eyes. "Moving on from childish antics…"

"I'm not-"

"I'm highly amused that you think I don't have sway in this country. I have much sway in this country." She completely glossed over his attempt at speech. She lifted her head a little bit. "Think here for a second, Sherlock. I am a high-stakes government employee for the United States. And I was granted a temporary visa by the British government for international business in London. Now that business is proving corrupt. Who tends to assist in doing so?" She felt like she had to lead him to the answers to everything. This was growing tedious and boring.

His eyes narrowed, "You know Mycroft."

"I know Mycroft. Really, Sherlock….I thought you'd be more FUN than this. Ugh! Please! Don't make me hold your hand this whole time." She rolled her eyes and flumped back in the chair. Sherlock was clearly enraged. He stepped towards the woman.

"Do you have any idea with whom you are speaking." John stood up, ready to pull Sherlock back in case he got too aggressive.

"Yes, yes….The Greeat Sherlock Holmes…Honestly, sweetie, settle down. I'm _trying_ to provide us both with a challenge here." She stood up. She was shorter than Sherlock, but it appeared to be not by much. Her high-heels provided her a great deal of height. "If you keep getting all pouty and fussy then no one's gonna get to play," She said the last part in a baby, kissy voice and went to pinch Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock quickly grabbed her wrist to stop her. John closed the gap between them.

"Sherlock, let her go." He was using his authoritative pull-rank voice. Sherlock didn't response. There was something flashing in his eyes that John didn't recognize. Something he'd never seen before.

"Mmm, you're a feisty one, aren't you, Sherlock. I like that." She wrinkled her nose seductively and snapped her jaws playfully at him.

"Sherlock….I'm not telling you again. Let. Her. Go." John's voice was firmer.

"Oh no, worries, Doctor Watson, he's not hurting me." Sherlock tightened his grip. "Oooookay now's he's hurting me. Down boy! Heel!" She pulled at Sherlock's hand around her wrist, giggling manically as she tried to worm her out of his fingers.

John slapped Sherlock swiftly and sharply in the back of the head. He let go of her wrist immediately. John was looking at Sherlock as if he'd been driven mad.

"Now….You insatiable woman. Get to the point of your case or I will personally remove you from the premises by force." Sherlock was unreadable at this point. Clearly escaping into his Mind Palace.

Ms. Madrigal sat in the chair rubbing her wrist. "Geez, all you had to do was ask nicely. I was just trying to have some fun." She looked like a child that was caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She sighed. "Alright…As a Pharmacist with the FDA, I am often doing quality control of American products and setting standards for medications that are sold on our markets. However, there has been a great influx of tainted products from overseas companies. There's one company in particular that I'm extremely concerned about. It's an Indian company called Leflux. It's a company that produces solely generic medications." She pulls several folders out of her briefcase. She hands one to John and one to Sherlock.

_No one's thought to give me my own case file before. _John was very taken aback by her consideration.

"The problem with Leflux is that they are using extremely low quality materials to supplement cost cutting. This has been known since the company started. That's what people expect out of generics. Dirt cheap counterparts to their brand medications." John nods knowingly. Sherlock is studying the case file. This is something a little out of his purview. "Within the past 3 months, there have been countless recalls against Leflux for their medications. There's a packet in there listing the ones the FDA has caught. The main consistency is for finding metal shavings in the bottles." Ms. Madrigal reaches in to her bag and pulls out two identical looking bottles. She again tosses one to Sherlock and one to John. John reads the bottle _Warfarin Sodium 2mg._ "These bottles are each from different shipment lots. If you look inside you'll see the metal shavings."

"You seem to have acquired all the evidence for us, and I'm failing to see our usefulness." Sherlock was extremely intrigued but growing weary.

"Please…Just play along for a few more minutes? I promise the punch line is REALLY good." Sherlock sighed and waved her to continue. She squeaked happily, "I've already tested the shavings from both lots – however if you'd like to confirm my results Mr. Holmes, you may, there is plenty of sample remaining. It's Palladium." Her hazel eyes light up and she bit her lip to contain her excitement. Sherlock leaned forward very interested now.

"You're positive of that result?" Sherlock wanted to be sure. She nodded emphatically. "I will want to test again to be sure."

"I'm missing something. What am I missing?" John felt like he was being left out of some secret club handshake.

Sherlock sighed heavily, "Do try to keep up, John." Ms. Madrigal looked at John apologetically. "Palladium is an inexpensive metal alloy that has made a recent surge in the jewelry market as a cost effective alternative for gold. Since the price of gold is at an all-time high, there has been a feverish decent on this option. The fact that there is Palladium found in the Leflux bottles, and the Leflux headquarters are in Southern India – where there is an astronomical amount of jewelry production continually being exported, it stands to reason that to that two are connected. And the fact that this is emerging during the current convention – relating to the British government past ties to Indian trade – implicitly, Mycroft is involved."

"Did I mention that Leflux is a British company?" Ms. Madrigal smile sheepishly. Sherlock groaned and threw his head back.

"Is that in the case file?"

"Yes it is. The owner is Richard Callaway."

"So, this is where we come in."

"Correct. I can easily prove the taint drugs. Easily. But I can't prove the embezzlement and the supply chain to the jewelry company. I don't need to explain to you, Doctor Watson, how extremely dangerous it is to have these medicines contaminated."

"No need at all. I would hate to think of my patients getting this." John shook his head in disbelief. He had heard of the scandal, but now to be investigating it…

Ms. Madrigal turned to face John, "Actually, I'm hoping your medical background will prove extremely useful in this case, Doctor Watson. Clearly, I can't be seen being involved, and I have my conference to attend. Having someone that understands the medical nuances would be a boon to Mr. Holmes. There is a lot to know and a lot to be informed about. It's not like Mr. Holmes can cram six years of Pharmacy school, and…well….a lot of years as an FDA agent to learn all the laws and protocols." Sherlock looked snubbed, but John was beaming with pride.

"That reminds me…" Ms. Madrigal leaned into her bag and pulled out a red, thick, leather bound book. It was the size of a paper back novel. She stood up and leaned forward to meet John's gaze intensely. He swallowed dryly. "I am trusting you with this, Doctor Watson. As one medical professional to another. I could get in a lot of trouble if they find out I gave this to you. I could lose my license indefinitely." She hands him the book. "This is the FDA book of laws and regulations regarding Pharmacy manufacturing and safety. It's last year's edition, but trust me, not much changes. Please, do NOT let this out of your sight. I need this back intact after the case." She leaned in really close next to his ear, "especially don't let Sherlock get his grubby hands on it." John stifled a laugh. And she pulled back smiling and casting a sideways glance at Sherlock. He was pouting.

"Oh, don't pout, sweetheart. It makes you look _awfully_ feminine." Sherlock's jaw fell open. "Flies, sweetie, flies." Sherlock closed his mouth immediately.

_She is so infuriately audacious. She dares to say these things to me? Does she have no respect? Does she give no credit to my abilities? Apparently not if she feels she can walk into MY home and usurp me so easily. Flagrant disregard of a man's sanctity. _

_But she is incredibly interesting. She may be the toughest mystery that I have ever had to solve. I don't understand her. But I want to explore her. Probe her mind. Figure her out. She elicits things inside me that I didn't think were possible. She stirs a type of rage from being bested. Competitive nature that I have only felt with Mycroft. I want to best her. I want to prove to her that I can beat her at something. Anything. No. Not anything. It has to be intellectual. Or sexual. She stirs desires in me. Her movements and her ostentatious flirtations. But they're directed at me. Clearly, she finds me a challenge, as well. She admitted this. She wants me to be "fun." Evidently, she also grows bored easily. I imagine we would keep each other entertained for quite a while. Yes. Further documentation is needed. I must unravel this mysteriously infuriating woman. _

Ms. Madrigal was gathering her belongings and throwing her blazer back over her shoulders.

"Well, fellas, it's been a laugh. My private cell number is listed numerous times throughout the case files. Please update me with any information regarding to case or any questions regarding the material."

She was about to walk out the door when Sherlock jumped up, grabbing his coat as he followed her out, "Let me escort you out, Ms. Madrigal. I have an inquiry about intellectual philosophy." He even bowed slightly.

"Please, I would consider us business associates now. Call me "Christiane."

John watched stunned as the first time in his history of knowing the man, Sherlock Holmes did something gentlemanly. He walked a lady out.

John turned to read the case file. _Yup. This is going to be a fun one._


	3. Chapter 3

"You know, Christiane, that you are a fascinating creature." Sherlock was studying her as they were walking down the stairs.

"I'm well aware, Mr. Holmes. You're not too bad yourself." Sherlock was caught by surprise by the off-handed comment. From behind her, he could tell she was smirking.

"If we're on a first name basis, at least call me, 'Sherlock,'" It came out as both a demand and a request.

"When I feel like it. Or when you've been a good boy," They had reached the bottom of the stairs and she opened it winking at him. His jaws flapped open and closed trying to find words. "Flies, Sherlock." He closed his mouth. She was about to close the door behind her, but he couldn't waste this opportunity. Reaching out, he stopped the door from closing.

"Where are you staying?" The question sounded more provocative than he intended with his voice lowering in tone. This woman was driving him insane in so many ways.

_She's an evil temptress. She's no good. Turn around and go back upstairs. Deny the case. But this is the most intrigue you have faced in years. And, as far as you can tell, the safest. Far safer than Moriarty. This woman doesn't want you and your loved ones dead. I can't deny that the quips she throws at me not only shock me, but rather arouse me, as well. Meeting an intellectual match with extreme sexual desirability is an alluring thought. I can't help but have a strong lust for her. Strange that people believe my sexual experience so limited. It really isn't. It's just not my chosen method of release. I can never find someone stimulating enough to satisfy me. I rather quickly gave up. This woman, though. The woman standing in front of me, studying me. She unabashedly is stimulating enough to satisfy me. Repeatedly. _

Sherlock's erection was becoming a problem he did not want to ignore much longer.

"You were thinking again, weren't you?" Christiane had remained silent this whole time. Knowing full well Sherlock wouldn't hear her answer.

"Yes," he admitted openly.

"You still can't figure me out, can you?" She smirked.

"Nooo….But I'm beginning to explore my reactions to you." His eyes never left her face. Flitting from feature to feature. He was taking in every muscle twitch every skin ripple. Looking for some giveaway. Her eyes were the most telling, and he still didn't understand the message. Her eyebrow raised slightly and her eyes filled with what seemed intrigue.

"Hm….good to know. I'm staying at the Grange St. Paul." Sherlock nodded approvingly.

"I'll make sure you get there." He ushered her out the door and closed the door behind them.

"Awww, are you afraid that little ol' me is gonna lost in big bad London?" She made a pouty face ran a playful finger down the front of Sherlock's chest. Sherlock's breath hitched. She threw her head back laughing in the air. Sherlock closed the gap with a few steps, and simply put his hand in the air. As if by magic, a cab was pulling up the curb. "Impressive." She nodded, sliding across the seat, allowing Sherlock to slide in next to her. "Howdy, there sir. If ya'll could be as so kind as to take me to Grange St. Paul. That'd be mighty kind a' ya." She addressed the cabbie in the front with a slow western drawl. Sherlock looked at her utterly baffled. She wrapped her hands around Sherlock's upper arm and leaned really close to his ear barely breathing on it, fully aware of how much it turned him on, "I'm a certifiably insane, eerily intelligent woman running a rampage on the streets of London with an extremely attractive functionally sociopathic, genius of a detective." Her lips brushed his ear as she said the next line, "let me have my fun." Sherlock couldn't help himself as a small groan escaped the back of his throat.

Christiane immediately sat up off his arm and look him in the face. He looked utterly horrified.

"Why Sherlock Holmes…"She said placing her hands on her hips. "I do believe I affect you." He shot her an incredulous look. She just shrugged and sat with her back flush against the seat putting space between her and Sherlock. Sherlock looked exceptionally sad and well, needing.

"That's it? Do you understand how incredibly, ridiculously infuriating you are, woman!" Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms again.

"Really, Sherlock, we're business associates, now. Is that an appropriate relationship? And an appropriate location?" There was a mocking tone in her voice and as his eyes met hers, her eyebrows flicked. Sherlock's body tensed.

_I can't give in to primal lust as tempting as it is with this woman. That would result in an unweaving of my entire fabric. I cannot lose control. I cannot let her take my control. She awakens Cro-Magnon desires in me that I thought I had evolved past. I feel like it's mating season in the animal kingdom, and she is the presenting female. Facts. Sherlock. Facts. Present a scenario. Controlled. Experiment. Explore. _

Christiane had her head twisted at Sherlock again, "you were thinking again…." She was playing with the seat behind Sherlock.

"Yes….I was. And I think my process should be addressed vocally."

"Aww, has Baby been a bad girl? Is she gonna have to sit in a corner?" She was using that cutsey baby voice again trying to look innocent, but it didn't detract that the words were incredibly arousing. She was giving him authority. Telling him to punish her. He shook his head.

"I will freely admit that a carnal relationship with you is very appealing."

"Well, I'm glad we agree on that." She leaned forward and growled it at him.

"However, you are an extreme distraction and have ill effects on me that I need to be able to control." Christiane pouted, muttering something about him being uptight. "I propose an experiment." Christiane was intrigued.

"Go on, I'm listening."

"I desperately want a carnal relationship with you. As soon as possible. But perhaps if we take a more explorative approach to it, I may be able to keep my wits about me."

"Not to sound repetitive, just to clarify the parameters to the..um…experiment. You want to have experimental sex with me…..a lot. Is that about it?" They were pulling up to her hotel. She was handing money to the cabbie who was clearly eavesdropping. He understood where this could lead even if Sherlock didn't, so he wasn't hurrying her out of the cab. It helped that Christiane had handed him a couple extra bucks.

"That's essentially the premise, yes." She extended her hand for an official handshake on the matter, which Sherlock found acceptable. She then pulled him very close by that same hand.

"Remember, Sherlock, you asked for this. I hope you can keep up." She pressed down a violent passionate kiss onto Sherlock that both surprised him and awakened something dangerous inside of him. Suddenly he was starving for her and only her. She tasted like sweet cherries. Sherlock was clenching onto the seat of the cab as she leaned her body weight onto him. He arched his back into the kiss as she nibbled on his bottom lip. Sherlock let out a low moan. His body was flooding with endorphins. It was even giving him a headache. He couldn't analyze the data fast enough. As quickly as it began, it was over, and she was lifting her weight off of him. He was gasping for air. And although her breathing was heavier, she was no longer as ruffled as he was. She pushed on his shoulder impatiently.

"Come on, out of the car, already!" Sherlock looked around dazed and realized the car door to his right was now open. Then he made the connection that she must have done that when she leaned herself onto him. He shifted out of the car, and she grabbed her briefcase and slid gracefully out of the car. She waved thankfully at the cabbie as he drove off. She grabbed Sherlock's wrist and walked into the hotel at a leisurely pace.

"What floor are you on?" He asked impatiently.

"9."

"What room number?"

"Hang on, Sherlock, I have to check with the front desk if I missed any calls. I am in London on business, remember?" Sherlock was practically vibrating. He tried to put a hand on her waist, and she slapped her hand.

"Preposterous wretch" Sherlock was getting grumpy, needing a release. She winked at him as she collected her messages, swaying her hips to music playing through lobby. Sherlock locked his hands behind his back and walks up behind Christiane at the front desk, leaning to her ear. "I really don't understand the purpose of this portion of the experiment. I would appreciate an explanation before my insanity pounds me out of my skull."

Christiane clicks her tongue. "Dear, sweet, Sherlock. This is a crucial part. Patience. We often want at inconvenient times and must make due until it is readily available. Even while being bombarded be reminders of our discomfort." She collected her messages, and waved to the counter. She and Sherlock walked to elevators, Sherlock trying to rush ahead. "Slower, Sherlock, Slower." He huffed impatiently. "Also, tolerance. If we can tolerant our arousal then we, as you put, are able to master our transport. And if we can master our arousal," she paused to push the up button on the elevator. "Then we can emanate it outwards," she threw him a wink. "The build-up, as you will learn shortly, is well worth it." The elevator door closed behind them. They are the only ones on it. She leaned up and nibbled Sherlock's ear lobe, "I promise you, it's worth it." Sherlock groaned loudly at the graze, and snapped. He grabbed her and pinned her to the elevator wall, hoisting her off the ground.

"Mmmm…Sherlock…."

He started kissing and nibbling her neck ferociously, wanting to be everywhere at once. He was firmly latched on to her ass, pulling her more into him. Her arms were tangled around his neck, and her fingers laced in his dark curls. Sherlock latched on to a spot on her collarbone and was vigorously biting and sucking.

"Ahhh! Sher-Sherlock. I have the Co-Conference. Don't leave ma-marks." She stuttered out. The elevator dinged her floor. And he dropped her legs rather unceremoniously on the floor leaving her to hold the walls for her balance. She giggled uncontrollably. He adjusted his clothing and his hair as he exited the elevator. She did the same, pulling the strap to cover the fresh mark from minutes before.

They walked calmly down to hall towards her room. About halfway down the hall, Sherlock looked down at her, an obvious hunger in his eyes, his breathing still shallow.

"A point: frankly, I don't give a damn about your conference. You're clever. Cover the marks." He seductively sneered at her. Her eyes rolled slightly in lust. He looked like a hungry wolf. The same grey steel eyes. Her legs wobbled slightly. He grabbed her by the waist to steady her as they walked, holding her close.

"Composure, my dear."

"Hm?" Christiane looked up at him dazed. It was her turn to be dizzy with lust.

"Lesson four: It was composure, wasn't it? A true test of maintaining arousal is to not let others see your arousal. Essentially, do not be obvious, and you can do more subtle things." He reached down from where his hand rested on her waist to firmly grope her right ass cheek.

She yelped and instinctively slapped him across the face. Immediately, her hands flew to her mouth, and her eyes were wide. Sherlock was just blinking repeated, then a smirk spread across his face. Christiane started laughing uncontrollably.

"I am SO sorry. Reflex." She said through her hands. Sherlock was still just smirking at her. She couldn't read his expression, but she couldn't stop snickering. She felt like a drunken teenager. She held up her key card and pointed at the door they were now in front of. Sherlock made hurried work of the door, Christiane still snickering and sighing behind him. He opened the door widely, then turned around and grabbed Christiane off her feet and into him until she was sitting on his pelvis, her legs wrapped around his waist. It was one smooth motion. Before she could scream in surprise he stifled her mouth with a forceful kiss. With a long gait, barely hindered by the extremely curvey woman added to him, he crossed the threshold into the room, and kicked the door closed behind them. He pinned her to the wall nearest the door. She was grabbing greedily at his collar trying to deepen the kiss. She licked at his lower lip and licked as his top lip. He granted her access and their tongues danced rhythmically. Exploring each other, tasting each other. This was no longer about the experiment. This was lust. And Sherlock didn't care. He'd analyze the data post-coitus. Right now he wanted this damn woman. He wanted her all. He braced himself on the wall as she tried to pull him closer. He groped the wall with his opposite hand until he found and flicked on the lights. He pulled away the kiss both of them very breathless and eager. Their eyes both said the same thing, "More!"

She released his hips from the strangle hold her legs had them in. His hips kicked back. He grunted at the force. They were standing leaning on each other trying to breath for a second.

Christiane recovered first. Or at least lost patience first. And she started struggling to take off his jacket, with his arms pressing against the wall it was a very humorous struggle to watch. He chuckled at her efforts, "Okay, enough breathing. Help. Off with it. Now." Sherlock leaned in slower this time and licked up her jawbone to her ear, letting his jacket slide off his shoulders, "a little demanding?" She threw her head back into the wall and moaned.

"Not fair."

"All's fair in love and war, dearest," he retorted condescendingly. He kissed down her jugular her breath hitching each time. He filed this in his memory bank.

She slipped out from under his grasp when he took a second to think. She was desperately pulling him towards the bedroom. "Please please please please."

"Begging is beneath you," he quipped as he followed her into the bedroom.

"Yes, but I'll do it for this." There was desperation in her eyes. Sherlock was trying to decipher it. He had a theory, but he didn't trust them with her anymore. They made it to the bedroom, and she quickly deposited her blazer, her high- heels, and her hair clip on a nearby chair.

Several things immediately struck Sherlock. She was significantly shorter than the shoes made her appear. They gave her a minimum of three inches of height. Her feet were smaller than he anticipated. But they were beautiful. He was never one for manicured nails, but her toenails had an elegant polish on them. The hair. Her hair was breathtaking. Soft, wavy wisps of chocolate kiss down her shoulders and her back. Sherlock wanted to run his fingers through it desperately.

He stepped to her and leaned down gently and held her face in his right hand, grabbing her waist in his left. He ran his fingers through her feathery locks, and it was softer than it looked. She sighed at the soft touch. Sherlock pulled away and gazed at her.

"Why would you beg for this if you know begging is beneath you?"

Christiane blushed and turned her head. "You're very…um….stimulating Sherlock. In many ways. I've been well aware of you long before you were aware of me. Remember my ties to Mycroft. I've been aptly informed on your career and your skill set." Sherlock was suddenly aware that she had all the advantage. She knew so much about him. And he could not deduce a single thing about her. Sherlock felt very vulnerable around Christiane. "I've been extremely challenged intellectually by you since I first caught wind of your prowess. Now that I've met you, I'm physically craving you. I need you to touch me so I can feel that electricity. And it's hella fun messing with you." She winked at him. He stepped towards her again and lifted her gently by the sides, softly tossing her on the bed. She landed with a soft thud and moan of appreciation. Before the mattress settled he was hovering above her, his knee leaning in between her legs. He kissed her vigorously and then kissed down her neck.

"Sherlock, stooooop," she whines. "Stop teasing. Ah! Please!"

He hovers above her face his lips right above her cheek. "I know your secret." He kisses the corner of her mouth. He straightens up to take off his vest. She takes advantage of that time to remove her blouse, balling it up and throwing it somewhere across the room. Sherlock continues to remove his button up, tossing it on the floor. Christiane's breath hitches.

_Oh my God. Oh my God….There's a shirtless Sherlock Holmes hovering above me. Staring at me. In just my bra. This can't be real. Oh whoa, those lusty eyes are hot!_

Christiane brought her hands up to run them over Sherlock's smooth, pale chest. The sinew of muscles tightening under every breath. Her hands were shaking. Sherlock grabbed her hands in his.

"Don't you want to know the secret that I know?" His eyes were half-lidded with lust.

"I know you want to tell me. And I know I won't stop you anyway." Christiane smirked.

"No, you won't…" Sherlock whispered. He released her hands and leaned forward taking her earlobe in his teeth. "You appear extremely sexually confident and with a high amount of sexual prowess." He gently glides his fingers down her throat and between her cleavage.

"Mmmm…Ah. Sherlock!"

"But I know…" Sherlock lick the shell of her ear. "It's been an exceptionally long time since you've had intercourse regularly."

Christiane stop in her tracks and sat up, disturbing Sherlock from his place. He looked puzzled and perturbed, almost hurt.

"Where do you get that from?"

Sherlock sat back, hoping he wasn't wrong again, "Well, someone who was more used to sexual contact wouldn't have slapped someone that she was about to engage sexually when he grabbed intimately. And the resulting reaction would not have been so exuberant. Also, while firmly in control at the beginning of the excursion, as the sexual tension mounted, it was more difficult to retain composure. Implying that there hadn't been aided release in quite a while causing a sense of urgency."

Christiane looked simply aghast. Sherlock, however, was full steam ahead. He gently pushed her back on the bed and nibble on her bare chest. "So…How long has it been?"

"Sherlock!" She yelled at him, trying to sit up again, but she couldn't under his weight.

"What is wrong with that question?" He glanced up from her chest.

"I don't think it's any of your business, that's why."

"Well, many would say as I am currently kissing you bare chest, that would make me your current sexual partner. Thus, my business." Christiane scoffed.

"Let me up, Sherlock. This experiment is over."

"5 years, 6 months, 2 weeks, and 3 days."

"What?" Christiane was baffled.

"I was sharing with you the last time I engaged in fully successful coitus. 5 years, 6 months, 2 weeks, and 3 days." Christiane's eyes widened.

"How?"

"I told you. People don't stimulate me. Except for you." He grinds his erection into her thigh.

"Ahhh…..I see that. Well, feel that." Christiane blushed. "4 years and 3 months. Approximately."

"What was your reasoning?" He looked in her face, genuinely concerned.

"Heh….Career. Didn't have time for relationships or sins of the flesh." Sherlock ponders this for a minute.

"Why do you have seductive undergarments then," biting her soft breast and the edge of her lacey blue bra.

"Nngh! Do-Don't Do That, Sherlock." Christiane shudders, clawing at his back. "Call it wishful thinking."

"I think you're lying…" He makes like he's about to bite again.

"Becauseitmakesmefeelsexy! Iliketofeelsexy! Oh God please don't bite again." She was panting.

"I think I found an effective way of coercing information." She whimpered in response. "How exploratory are you feeling?"

"Um….what did you have in mind?" Christiane was suddenly very anxious.

"Well, being that this is our first exploration together, we have several options." He was stroking her side lightly, eliciting quiet moans from the woman beneath him. "We can take a progressive approach and explore on an exponential sliding scale. Another option, since it has been an exceptionally long time since either of us has engaged in penetration intercourse, if you're comfortable, we could engage in full vaginal coitus and continue exploration in successive sessions," he was still stroking her side as he was discussing this with her.

"Ya know…" She said in a breathy voice, "the more you do that to my side, the easier you make this decision…" She moaned softly again.

"So…." Sherlock did not want to assume in this case. His fingers were dancing over her cleavage, her stomach, circling her belly button.

"Ohmygod! Just fuck me already, Sherlock. I can't take this anymore! Oh god, this is torture." He leaned over her, his body pushing fully against hers, her legs spreading fully. He pressed a full lusty kiss on her lips. His member was aching painfully, but his desire to prolong the experience was trumping the pain of his throbbing erection. He bit her lower lip, sucking on it. _Apparently, I have not lost the ability to please a woman. Foreplay is still very much an ability of mine._ Christiane groaned tensely into Sherlock's mouth and thrust her hips up into Sherlock's.

"Ahhh!" The scream escaped Sherlock's own throat as he threw his own head back, vision blurring. _Perhaps I've drawn this on too long…._Sherlock was panting heavily above Christiane. His lust was driving him now. His primal instincts were turned on in his head. All he saw was the silky flesh before him, and he wanted it all.

He pushed himself up off Christiane and went to work at his belt. Christiane pushed herself up on her elbows to watch him strip. He was not happy about that because that meant she was not taking her clothes off. He leaned deep into her face, his eyes dark with lust. He tugged at her pant leg.

"Off. Now. All of it." He growled it at her, his voice guttural with lust.

"Mmmm….Whatever you say, Master." She quickly got off the bed and started stripping and Sherlock was ridding himself of his pesky garments. He was still shaking over her seductive use of the title of "Master" for him. Somehow she knows what buttons to push with him, and they haven't even further advanced their exploration.

They were both fully nude, and he looked her up and down. She was incredibly intoxicating. He could practically smell the pheromones. He ran his hand down her unclad side trying to savior the moment. They were both shaking, though, clearly just needing a last push over the edge. Sherlock's erect penis was already leaking with pre-cum. It didn't go unnoticed by either of them. He pulled her onto the bed, and mashed their bodies together. They both grunted as the genitals touched.

"For the love of everything, please tell me your wishful thinking has you prepared to be in London…" Sherlock was shaking so violently, and he just realized that his evening could come crashing around both of them.

"You're lucky I'm an optimist, Mr. Holmes," she kissed him chastely and leaned over the bed to reach a bag underneath. Sherlock was gifted of a lovely view of her rear. Her reached out his hands and firmly gripped both cheeks in his hands.

Christiane gasped. "Sherlock I can't concentrate on what I'm trying to get when you're doing that."

"Focus more." He gave her another squeeze. She had firm, round, pert buttocks. It wasn't something he usually admired, but he couldn't help but lust after everything of Christiane's. "Swiftly!"

"I'm looking, Sherlock!"

And evil smirk played on Sherlock's face. He pulled his hand back and let it land on her right cheek with a loud *smack*! Christiane popped up immediately and gasped.

"I have them! You don't need to do that ever, ever, ever again. Never." Her breathing was jagged and gasping. There was a light red hand print forming. _I'll have to explore that later._

"No promises." He grumbled aggressively pushing her on her back they were both drunk with lust. Sherlock leaned in and kissed Christiane tenderly. "I fear this experiment might not have as fruitful results as hoped for. The anticipation may have, in fact, become a little too intense. I promise you, though, we will both be satisfied."

Christiane was shaking as if she were cold as Sherlock slipped on the condom. She cackled slightly, "trust me, Sherlock, I don't think it's gonna be an issue."

He pressed his body fully against her and grazed his hard member against her vagina looking for confirmation in her face that it was safe to proceed. The rubbing and closeness was apparently very pleasurable, though, because she was moaning and her head was thrown back.

"Christiane…" he said softly to be sure.

"Goddamnit, Sherlock! I'm not a virgin! Just do it, already!" She took him aback greatly. Perhaps he was being too careful.

Christiane reached up and ran her fingernails down his back because she could see he was thinking again and she did not want it happening right now. Sherlock gasped. He plunged fully into Christiane.

"Ahhh! Oh god Sherlock! OhmyGod…."

Sherlock was trying to steel his will power. He started thrusting slowly, not realizing how close she had pushed him. He was dangerously close already. He was panting heavily. Christiane wrapped her legs tightly around Sherlock's thin frame and pulled him in closer.

"Nnhg….Chr-Christiane….No….No….." Sherlock was thrusting with wild abandon now. His low throaty moans mixing with Christiane's high pitched screams. She was so slick and he could feel her convulse around his penis. He hadn't realized he aroused her so much.

Christiane threw her arms around Sherlock's neck and pulled him into a kiss. It was thirsty and needy. She kept breaking the kiss to moan into his mouth. The moans got more frequent. Sherlock was clenching his eyes shut desperately trying to focus on anything else to prolong to moment until Christiane had her orgasm. Case studies, experiments he had at home, things John yells at him for…_Oh….he never told John where he went…._

"No, No, Sherlock, No…." She was buried in the crock of his neck, gasped.

"Please, Christiane….For me…"

"Sheeerlock…" Christiane's body tensed and her body arched. Sherlock wrapped his arm around her back and pulled her into a hug as she orgasmed. Feeling her clench from her pleasure sent Sherlock over the edge, and he was moaning low and long right in tune with Christiane. They rode the wave of pleasure wrapped in each other's arms. Sherlock fell forward, bracing himself on his right arm, still holding Christiane with his left. Both lovers were gasping for air and thoroughly exhausted.

He laid her down and lay next to her just breathing for a second. He propped himself up and kissed her on the forehead. Gliding off the bed weakly, he shuffled to the bathroom to clean himself up.

"You know that you're phone's been vibrating in the pocket of your coat by the door for almost 45 minutes, right?" Christiane called sleepily from the bed.

"No, I didn't, actually. Thank you. I'll grab it on my way back." He deposited the soiled evidence in the trash and left the bathroom. He picked up his coat and was about to head towards the bed.

"You're assuming you're staying the night Sherlock Holmes." His posture turned insecure and hurt. He did see it as an experiment, but he wasn't totally heartless. Christiane sighed, "You're too easily tricked. Get over here." She patted the bed next to him. He tried not to light up like a spoiled kid getting another pony.

Checking his phone, he had several text messages from John:

**I thought you were just walking her out…Where are you? –JW 8:34pm**

**I want to get take away. Am I getting some for you? – JW 9:21pm**

**Seriously, Sherlock, where are you? We have case files to go over! – JW 9:58p**

**Are you even coming home tonight? – JW 10:46p**

**I swear, you ruddy git, if you started this case without me, all the body parts are coming out of the fridge before you get home. Your experiments can rot for all I care. –JW 11:12pm**

**Ya know what, Sherlock? Be like that. I'm going to do what I can on this case tonight, but you owe my for covering your arse….again – JW 11:38pm**

**I think Ms. Madrigal wanted this case solve BEFORE she went back to America next week. Git. – JW 11:39pm**

**Made sure Christiane got to hotel alright. Started experimenting. Late night. Be home tomorrow. Don't worry about the case. –SH 12:01am**

Sherlock was typing out a response as he was walking to the bed.

"Your girlfriend trying to reach you?" She smirked coyly perched up on her elbow. She was nestled under the covers, now hiding all the personal zones. She still looked very alluring though. However, Sherlock was beyond sexually satisfied to even fathom those thoughts. She was still attractive to admire, though. And it brought him pride that he caused that after-glow on her.

"John…"

"Oh okay….so it was just your mother telling you that you're out past curfew." They chuckled lightly.

"Sheeeerlock…Stop texting and come to bed," she whined. _I do that to John when I'm bored, don't I? It is a rather effective way to get what you want…_

He slid under the covers next to her. He looked down at her, questioningly.

She sighed, "whatever it is, ask it."

"What are you typical post-coital rituals?"

"Depending on the event: showering, cuddling, sleeping. Those are pretty standard. If there are extenuating circumstances, throwing on clothes and running out the door." She chuckled. Sherlock didn't get it.

"What post-coital rituals are expected of me?"

"It depends on the situation, Sherlock. If we're in a nefarious place, there will be no ritual except redress and get the hell out of there with as much composure and as little exposure as possible." She smirked again. Sherlock still didn't get it.

"Tonight?"

"It's really what makes you comfortable. I'm not forcing you into anything. You're the one that got all sad when I joked about kicking you out. So clearly, you want to share a bed, if nothing else…."

Sherlock nodded. "I find cuddling acceptable." Christiane scoffed.

"I'm glad." _This is weirdest relationship that I've ever had. _

Sherlock turned off the bedside light, the only light on in the bedroom. He slid under the covers, into the queen-sized bed next to his new sexual partner. Sherlock wanted to get comfortably settled before he engaged in cuddling with Christiane.

"Sherlock…" Christiane's voice was a hushed whisper from the pillow next to him. He could tell that she was lying on her back with her head turned towards him. His eyesight was limited because there were barely any light sources in the room, and none cast enough waves onto the bed.

"Hm?" He turned his head towards head towards her to better answer her.

"I'm scared of the dark….Will you hold me?" It was another hushed whisper from the pillow next to him.

Sherlock propped himself on his elbows, "Christiane, be serious. You know as well as I do that a fear of the dark is perfectly illogical. It simply stems from a fear of the unknowns which is common amongst the common masses. However, you and I often DO know, therefore, we have no need for such petty fears. Besides, dark is just an absence of light. It's ridiculous to fear darkness itself. If anything, the things to be feared would be what would be IN the darkness. And you and I know equally well that just as deplorable things can happen in light. Additionally, to fear what is within the darkness in THIS particular room is asinine. It is simply you and I. I can guarantee your safety."

Christiane started laughing and squirmed next to Sherlock for emphasis, "Oh my gosh, Sherlock….You are an adorable idiot. I was giving you an opportunity to be heroic and rescue the damsel in distress from the scary monsters in the darkness….I was being playful. Then there you go, being Sherlock Holmes. Ending your diatribe about my ridiculousness with legitimate heroics…Sometimes you have a way of being off-handedly romantic." She sighed, and curled her body around Sherlock's torso. They both felt the immediate body heat having not put clothes on after their romp.

Sherlock was bewildered by Christiane's outburst and then the sudden desire to be close to him. "I…I don't understand. Could you please explain."

"Gladly," she leaned up and pecked him on the cheek. He blushed. She wasn't harsh with his inability to grasp concepts as Sherlock was with John. "I was setting up an opportunity for false heroics to be playful. Instead, you surprised me by offering a true Holmesian lecture ended with legitimate heroics. I.E. the promise of my safety." She lean up and kissed him on the lips chastely.

"Oh…" Sherlock blushed again. He had never seen himself has capable of romance. Even if it was, as she put it, "off-handed." Maybe it was only romantic to her because she understood him. _Romance has it's advantages. It increases the chances of copulation with certain women. This is also something to be investigated. This is turned to be an elaborate experiment. Many variables. Social Psychology is fascinating. _

"Let's sleep, Sherlock. I feel like my body's been sleeping two hours ahead of me." She chuckled.

"Mm." Christiane pulled one of his arms from behind his head and put it around her waist. He obliged, and pulled her a little closer. She put her head on his stomach and ending up curling practically into a ball in his lap by the time she was sleeping. She reminded him of a cat sleeping in a box – Wedged in the tightest confines possible. He pulled the covers back so she was not suffocated under the heat of the comforter.

_Insecure. Unsure. Infantile reversion. Guarded internally. Secrets. Tense. Stressed._

Sherlock traced the lines of her body, which got her to relax slightly and uncoil a little. He's fingertips continued to ghost, his eyes much more adjusted to the darkness, but still quite difficult to see. His fingers glided down her right side and paused above her right buttock. He felt inconsistencies in her skin. It felt like writing. That didn't make sense. He didn't see anything before. Then again he was so blinded with lust he would have been lucky if he saw the wall they landed against.

He strained his eyes against the spot he was touching. There appeared to be dark writing there. He reached over to the nightstand to grab his cell phone. And maneuvering between his hands and the covers, he was able to shine his backlight on her right buttock to examine that questionable feature.

Tattoos. Three. Dates:

11/23/1994

1/14/1998

7/7/2003

_Secrets, indeed. What does this clue tell me about you, you captivating mystery?_

He placed his phone back on the stand and pondering his new riddle until sleep took him.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock – not needing much sleep – woke before Christiane the next morning. There were small rays of sunlight filtering through the light-limiting shades, otherwise it was blackness. An observation made quickly upon Sherlock's waking.

He looked down at Christiane's sleeping form and saw she was much more relaxed in her posture. She was sprawled more lazily over his torso. He found it endearing. _Endearing? Honestly, Sherlock. This is merely an exploration into sexual impulse. Take it as such. Human emotions are messy. Don't involve in them. She is a client and a scientist. Nothing more. _

Before Sherlock could continue his musings, Christiane's eyes abruptly flew open. She freed herself from her awkward position and perched up on her elbows to look at the clock across the room: 9:19am.

"Good morning," Sherlock said tentatively. Suddenly, he was not sure if she was aware of his presence. Her apparently agitation and alertness were difficult to read.

She sat up and turned to look up at him as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, "Mornin', Sherlock!" She was extremely cheerful, perky even. "Now get up. We've got things do to today." She grabbed a nearby robe and stood, tying the robe tightly around her wait.

_Reserving modesty even post-coitus. Distancing intimacy. Lack of contact upon waking. Lack of emotional connect. This could be a wonderful arrangement._

"What do we have to do today?" Sherlock puzzled at her face.

"Really, Sherlock! You are tiringly slow in the morning…" She huffed as she headed to the bathroom.

"I beg your pardon, but-"

"Yes, yes," she waved his statement off. "I know you woke up before me. Forgive me for oversleeping. Okay, now, we're both up. It's Saturday. My conference begins Monday morning. If we solve this case by then? I get a free week in London." She chuckled. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. She threw her head back and groaned. "I'm not giving you this one, Sherlock. Is it ME that makes you unable to make connections? Maybe we shouldn't work together! I'm going to take a shower. You have until I get back to think it out. And DON'T go through my stuff. That's cheating." She shook a finger at him as she closed the door to the bathroom and started the water.

Sherlock stood off the bed and pulled on his boxers from the night before gauging by the modesty Christiane wanted to maintain between them.

_Is it really her that affects my deductions this much? Why are these things not obvious to me? Does she just rush me._ He sat on the edge of the bed. And leaned forward with his hands under his chin. _This is an International conference hosted this year in London._ Sherlock really wished he had his laptop right now. He wanted to know more about the conference. Frequency, previous locations, attendees this year. Things to look up when he was back in the flat. _It's held in the city where Richard Calloway's Leflux financial headquarters are. Not coincidence. Wait….I saw in the case file. _Sherlock retreated into his Mind Palace, opening doors until he found what he was looking for. _Yes! This conference is being sponsored by the American FDA this year! There was a footnote that this was an emergency meeting arranged within the past three months to discuss the contamination of generic medications. Specifically Leflux. This is going to be a very small conference with very key players to the Pharmaceutical world. Whomever is involved will be there. _Sherlock glanced at the door. _Did she bring us this case to get caught? Or to bring down others? It seems highly unlikely that a criminal would hire a consulting detective to solve a case and then provide significant evidence against herself. However, she is extremely informed. It's suspicious. She can't truly be that gifted. And she knows Mycroft. But she also pointed out that Mycroft has corrupted the British government. So maybe she is that gifted. I must carefully watch her behavior. However, it this case gets solved before Monday, the conference will be moot. At least it will not last the entire week. She said she would "have a free week in London." That implies she would not be found guilty. Richard Calloway will clearly be under investigation at this conference. Mycroft won't let me anywhere near there. And once he finds out I'm on this case, I will get a visit. Christiane can't be there when I do. Her position is already in great jeopardy. _

Christiane's was coming out of the bathroom wrapped again in her robe, drying her hair. "Your turn, Sherlock." Sherlock grunted a response and proceeded to gather his discarded clothing and head towards the bathroom.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes?" Christiane called to him before he closed the door.

"Hm?" He poked his head back out the door to look out at her.

"Did you come up with anything?" She smirked mockingly at him.

"Yes, plenty," he smirked back at her.

"Good," she nodded, and Sherlock went to take his shower.

Christiane went to her iPod dock on her dressing area, and pulled up her favored morning playlist. Putting the volume high enough to annoy Sherlock, but not hurt her own ears, she pressed play. She made sure she started with a few bands that would be extra irritating to him just for the look she could imagine on his face.

In a few seconds, "Classic Rock" popped up on the display and heavy driving music fell through the speakers:

"Hey, Hey, Momma said the way you move, Gonna make you sweat, Gonna make you groove."

The notable sounds of Led Zeppelin's _Black Dog_ echoed loudly off the walls. Immediately, Christiane heard a contesting groan from the bathroom as she was dancing around the room, humming along and getting ready.

"Will you turn off that detestably impoverish racket?!" Came the shout from the bathroom.

"What?! Sorry, Sherlock, dear! I can't hear you over my music! You'll have to tell me when you get out," Christiane was snickering uncontrollably as she pulled on her jeans for the day. Clearly, she had heard him. Torturing Sherlock was sooo much fun, and he made his dislikes so very obvious.

It was not more than two minutes later that the shower turned off. She was pulling on her nicely fit green tee-shirt with a recycle logo on the front. Almost as soon as it was over her head, Sherlock was storming out of the bathroom with a towel tightly wrapped around his waist. He huffed at her and bee-lined to the iPod and turned it off promptly.

"Hey! I was listening to that!" She said as she leaned over to pull on her sneakers so he wouldn't see her suppressing her humor.

"I would not have imagined you – an intellectual woman of culture- to listen to such _brutish_ music. They are an embarrassment to London." He said with bite in his voice.

"And I, Detective Holmes, would not have pegged to be into violent sex." She pulled down the collar of her shirt to expose a line of deep bruises. It was not necessary, though, because there was one very obviously in front of her neck on top of her jugular.

Sherlock lost the little color there was in his face remembering his abandonment of control and headlong dive into lust last night. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and he didn't know how to retort. Christiane stood up and walked to her dressing station and pulled off a hair brush to put her hair into a tight ponytail.

"It's okay, Sherlock. We all give into our vices once and awhile," she shot a sideways glance to his arms. Sherlock glared off behind her. _Mycroft. This woman knows way too much about me than I am comfortable with her knowing. I need to know the extent of her knowledge. Perhaps she just observed the faded track marks? Either way, this is not a situation I wish to be in. She clearly has the upper hand._

"And you do realize that Led Zeppelin is one the best-selling bands of all time, right? Even today?"

Sherlock huffed and went back to the bathroom to get dressed.

Christiane threw on her favorite striped, zip-up sweatshirt and sat on the bed, waiting for Sherlock to finish pouting. _He's actually pretty childish and annoying. And horribly predictable. It's a shame he's a genius._ _I hope this whole week isn't like this…._She huffed, and grabbed her phone off its charger.

**John: It's Christiane. Sherlock and I will be back to your place soon. We have lots of work to do. I'm sorry for detaining him last night. I'll make it up: lunch on me. ^_^ 10:09am**

She grabbed her purse and iPod off its dock then went to sit on the bed. Pulling a compact out her purse, she went to work covering the visible love bites.

Sherlock walked out of the bathroom fully dressed, his hair a wet tussle of curls. _He is cute at least. Although, he's got as much sun as a creature of the undead._ Christiane sighed. He wasn't her normal type at all. Not in the least. She crossed her fingers and hoped for the best.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked examining her methods of applying the product to her neck, not understanding female rituals. He sat next to her so he could don his shoes.

She saw this as a teaching moment not as a mocking moment. "Well," she turned to him a bit. "This is foundation. It's to create a more finished appearance on the skin and does very well at hiding things that you don't want seen." She looked at him incriminatingly. "The thing is you have to match the skin tone very carefully. See?" She took a small swipe of her make-up sponge on Sherlock's hand. It looked utterly ridiculous. Sherlock knew he was pale, but seeing her foundation on his hand, he realized how much so. She had a sunned complexion. _Not olive, but not of Northern decent. Not yellowed in tint so not Asian. Possibly Mediterranean, Italian. "Madrigal" is a Spanish name, though. And "Christiane" is a French name. However, many Americans hold many nationalities due to diverse immigrating practices. He'd have to inquire about that later. _

"Why do you want to cover those?" He nodded towards her neck as she was finishing applying the make-up. He wiped the foundation from his hand, but it just blended leaving an odd discolored blotch. He rolled his eyes.

She chuckled, "Sherlock, I thought that would be obvious. As shameless as I am, I am still a medical professional in town for a conference. And although I'm on my down time? I can't be walking around London with bruises on my neck." He looked skeptically at her response. She sighed, hoping he would have bought it, "moreover, Doctor Watson is captivated by me."

"What brings you to that conclusion?"

As if on cue, Christiane's phone buzzed next to her. She picked it up.

**No worries! How'd you get my number? Not that I mind. Just curious. And don't even dream of buying lunch. I'll go pick up take-away when you guys get back. How did the experimenting go last night? Did you discover anything that will help us in the case? –JW 10:21am**

She studied the text for a second. "What did you tell him about last night?" She looked at Sherlock slightly irritated.

"I told him we were experimenting and it was a late night. That I'd see him today. Is that relevant?" He seemed perfectly obvious to the irritation in her voice.

Christiane held up her phone to show him the text. "I told him about ten minutes ago that we'd see him soon, and I was sorry for detaining you and that I'd buy lunch to make up for it….Don't you see Sherlock?" Sherlock slowly shook his head. "He's fawning over me. And he didn't realize that you're "experimenting" meant sex. Did you not notice his behavior yesterday? Ugh, just watch him today. You'll see…Let's go!"

She grabbed her belongings and wisped towards the door. Sherlock actually had to hurry to catch up to, as he was noticing without the heels, the extremely shorter woman. He threw his coat and scarf on as they walked out of the hotel.

"Must you wear that insidious jumper?" Sherlock glanced down at her attire.

"What's wrong with my sweatshirt?!" Christiane retorted, offended.

"John wears nothing but those hideously common clothes around. It's appalling." He eyed her skeptically. "A woman of your class is much better suited for higher class material."

Christiane pursed her lips and nodded condescendingly, "do you really think, dearest detective, that after 24 hours you can make claims about my class and character? Especially after you've already dubbed me you're biggest riddle to date? And it just so happens, Mr. Holmes? That I rather enjoy relaxing in _jumpers_ while listening to Led Zeppelin. I enjoy a lot of _common_ pleasures. Do you know why? Because some times, just sometimes, I'm tired of being so uncommon." Her tone was biting.

They quickly hailed a cab after exiting the hotel. Christiane quickly retreated to the opposite side of the back seat to lean on the door to lean on the window. Sherlock sat on the opposing seat as the cab took off for 221B Baker Street.

_Why would he be so obtuse of his best friend's feelings?! Why would he lie to him like that? Is he REALLY that emotionally stunted? If he is, this is NOT going to be something that's going to last. I know that he wants to "experiment," but sorry, buddy….If you didn't notice? I'm a woman. Here's a footnote for you: we get attached. This is going to be a rough day. Poor, John. Grr….That face is going to break my heart when he finds out. And __**of course**__, Sherlock won't just tell him. _

Christiane huffed angrily.

Sherlock was eyeing her trying to read her irritation. He felt as if he did something but he didn't understand. This must have been one of those emotions things.

He reached over and caressed the back of her neck, now exposed with her high pony-tail, trying to initiate her physical affection towards him again. He hoped that would lessen her irritation towards him.

She slapped his hand away.

He tried to repeat the results. He rubbed her arm and gently tugged her arm to get her closer to him. She pushed his arm away, too.

"Stop, Sherlock! We have work to do today!" _Flaired nostrils, swallow breathing, tense jaw, vein pulsing in temple. Clear rage. This isn't just about the work. If I push the matter, she may lash out further. Maybe I should let John handle this. He tends to be better at these things. _

"Suitable." Sherlock retreated to his side of the car, and Christiane pulled out her iPod and put the ear buds in. "Why are you putting that in?" He was slightly insulted.

"Because Sherlock. This is preferable to the cacophony of sighs, muffled groans, and quizzical scowls coming from the other side of the car." She turned on her music until they got to Baker Street. Sherlock got out of the car first, and offered her his hand to assist her out. She sighed and took it. She knew she couldn't work with her fuming at him all day.

She put her iPod in her pocket as they walked up the stairs.

She stopped them before they walked in the door and turned Sherlock to look at her, "we're all going to work today. We're all going to play nice. And if I feel like I'm impeding either of you, I'm leaving before you can blink. Understood?" Sherlock looked at her slightly baffled. "Do. You. Understand?"

Sherlock nodded slowly. He would have to analyze the day's behaviors to further understand.

"Okay. Let's get to work."

Sherlock took out his keys for the flat.

Christiane took in a deep breath. _It's going to be a long day. _


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock and Christiane walked into the apartment to find John sitting in his chair writing notes over the purple case file, glancing from the file to his laptop to the manual Christiane gave him. Christiane was very impressed. He didn't even hear them come in.

"Been hard at work, eh Johnny Boy?" Christiane piped from the doorway.

"Hm?" He looked up, and almost stood up to greet them – well, her – losing all his papers. "Oh! Yes, I have been! Just give me a minute, and I'll make you guys something. Have you eaten?" He started shuffling his papers neatly into piles and laying them on the table.

"You know I don't eat, John." Sherlock scowled at him, sauntering over to glance at his work. Christiane shot him a dirty look.

"Food would be lovely. Unlike this almighty genius over there, I understand the importance of nutrients to the human body." She smiled broadly at the good doctor, who was now busying himself in the kitchen making eggs.

"I'm sorry that I'm not a gourmet chef, but I promise you won't die," they both chuckled.

"Most of my food comes out of boxes or from a phone call. This is a treat, I assure you. Do you have coffee?"

"Definitely! Honestly, this is a fascinating case! I wish we got cases like this more often, Sherlock. This is really up my alley. Did your experiments last night find anything useful?" John looked up from the pan to glance at Christiane (who had tensed) and Sherlock (who was smirked down at John's notes).

"I'd say there was a lot of productive data yielded from our research," Sherlock quipped with a dark voice. Christiane shot him daggers.

John paused for a second noticing something was off, "Oh….Good."

Christiane stepped into the kitchen as he turned the flame from the pan off and plated the eggs. She shot a discerning look towards Sherlock. John was putting the eggs on the table and motioning her to sit. She obliged.

"I don't think you know what Sherlock means by that, John…" Christiane bashfully said. John just looked at Christiane waiting for her point. "We…um…Sherlock and I…had a rather…nefarious evening. If you catch what I'm throwin'."

"…Oh…" He sounded horribly dejected. He put on a face and shoved a piece of egg into his mouth, "Not really my business. Sherlock does what he wants, anyway." John shrugged staring at his plate.

"Thank you, John. I appreciate the encouragement. See, Christiane, now our experimentation may proceed unhindered." Christiane shot him a death glare.

"Don' . . ." She said through clenched teeth in a hiss. Both John and Sherlock snapped their heads to her in shock. John's eyes the size of pie plates. She was already focusing on her eggs eating them placidly.

"John…" Christiane glanced at him from her plate.

"Hm?"

"Flies, dear." She winked at him. His mouth was indeed hanging open. He closed it. "Oh….and coffee?" She nudged towards where the percolations had ceased.

"Oh! I'm sorry. I'll get it. How do you take it?" He got up from the table taking his empty plate with him.

Christiane noticed Sherlock out of the corner of her eye about to say something and she pointed a stern finger at him. "Don't start you!" Sherlock sat in his chair taking his own laptop and case file in his lap, shrugging. "Just milk, please, John." She stood up to clear her plate and took the coffee from him.

"Alright, John, fill us in on what you found out." They walked into the living room. John in his chair, and Christiane on the sofa. John talked about the research he had done into Leflux. The types of medications they dispensed (which was many and mostly irrelevant), how many recalled batches of what medications there were (it was mainly the blood-thinner, Warfarin, which made sense because that was what was primarily produced in the Dubai, India facility), and over what time span. John found details on the side effects on taking the tainted medicine and how many lawsuits Leflux had pending due to these incidents – it was 43. With a few simple phone calls, John was even able to requisition the employment records of the supervisors on staff at the time of the contaminations. And it was always the same one: Pryor Callaway - hired by his cousin, Richard, to maintain the Dubai plant.

"Whoa…Doctor Watson, I am extremely impressed! Maybe we don't even need Sherlock, at all" Christiane winked over at Sherlock.

"John simply obtained information that was already there. The difficult part is connecting that information." Sherlock quipped.

"But you always tell me that I see and don't observe….There's nothing about connecting in that, Sherlock…" John questioned.

Sherlock's face got red with frustration. "How does the Palladium fit?"

Sherlock picks up his laptop and feverishly types out a few things. He's studying the screen, constantly clicking buttons.

"This case just got very boring." Sherlock said.

"Don't say that, Sherlock, you know it's not true. You've never worked so hard in your life." Christiane smirked at him.

"Yes, but the connection is so tediously simple. There is a Palladium refining company right outside of Dubai called "Molten Works." It is owned and operated by our friend, Pryor Calloway. It has also filed for bankruptcy three months ago. Seems as though dear cousin Richard is helping dispose of extra Palladium. Whether he knows it or not, is yet to be determined. Perhaps he is buying it from Pryor to save his refinery and to save money on his production costs. Come, John, we're going to see Lestrade!"

John shot looks between Christiane and Sherlock.

"Sherlock….Did I mention the British government's involvement in this cover-up? Can we do a little more investigating first?" Christiane pleaded.

"No, no…I need to access the supply requisitions from Leflux. I need to see the transactions between Pryor and Richard."

"Sherlock, maybe she's right. Besides, it's Saturday." John piped in.

"Give me a little more time, Sherlock. Then, I'll let you run wild over the streets of London, okay?" Christiane smiled endearingly. Sherlock perked at the thought of a chase. "Have you even been to Molten Works website, yet?" John and Sherlock looked at each other. Christiane rolled her eyes and took out her laptop and a pair of wire-framed glasses. She slid them on her face and set her laptop on her seat, walking over behind John's chair. She reached over John's shoulder and fiddled with his laptop for a second, her arm brushed his shoulder. He shuddered at the touch.

_She smells so good. So light and feminine. And those glasses frame her face incredibly well. It's adorable. I just want to pull her into my lap right now._

Christiane walked to her seat, and John looked at his screen, noticing what she had been doing. She was acquiring the wireless code for their flat. John chuckled, and closed out the screen. In a few minutes all three of them were clicking away on their laptops.

"Okay, so you see this Molten Works website is extremely high-gloss, and its hit-counter is inexplicably high for a Palladium refinery in India." Christiane pointed out turning her laptop towards them. Sherlock had a clear picture.

"It's a front. This is their means of communicating the shipments. How did you know?" Sherlock asked. Not liking being beaten again.

"Well, I took a stab in the dark, honestly. With how tech savvy business is these days, it had to be something digital. Especially being that these are established businesses. Email is too trackable. It had to be through one of the business sites. It was a guess that it was Pryor's since Leflux is an internationally known company that has an extremely high volume of visitors to its site a day. There was higher risk of people discovering their method. Now if I could just figure…." She turned her laptop back towards her studying the page. She clicked a few things, and her eyes widened. "Ah! Found it!"

She motioned John and Sherlock to her. They quickly unburdened their laps and crowded behind her.

"Obviously, this is the home page." She clicked on her first tab and scrolled down the page. "Do you see in that picture of the refinery? The tiny differential in pixilation? Right over the discarded Palladium?" She hovered her mouse over it and it indicated a link. It brought them to a solid white page with just a paragraph, and a series of numbers at the bottom. "I don't understand what it's saying though. It's some sort of euphemistic code."

Sherlock stared at the code for a second his brain's gears turning. In a second he started speaking, "It's pretty much an ad. It's explaining how this is a black market for palladium shavings with no strings attached. No papers, no checks. Hand delivered with privacy intact. Apparently the number code at the bottom leads them to a middle man. I don't understand that code, though."

Christiane sigh heavily, "I do. It's an American phone number with a two digit extension. Washington D.C. area code. FDA President: Darryl Wrightman. Oh God….I'm going to lose my job…." Christiane started crying into her hands. Sherlock looked at John puzzled and John shot him the what-are-you-daft look. Her crouched next to Christiane and put his hand on her back.

"Hey, you don't know that….Maybe you'll get a promotion…" He chuckled. It made her chuckled, too.

"Thanks, John, but shit rolls downhill. If the President goes down, or even if I point the gun, he's going to take me down with him. One thing about American government? Especially corporation…They'll cut off their nose to spite their face…" She buried her head in her hands. She groaned, "Why! Why did he have to be in on this?! I went to his friggen Christmas parties!"

She sat up and wiped the tears from her face. And pressed a few buttons on her keyboard, then closed it. "John, you said something about take out before?"

"Yeah, yeah, we can do that! What do you lot want?" Sherlock shook his head at John's question.

"I don't eat during a case, John. You know that." Sherlock sigh exasperatedly. Christiane looked up at him incredulously.

"Something good. I'm putting my dietary trust in your hands, Doctor Watson." She smiled at him playfully.

"I think I can handle that. I'll be back," He grabbed his coat from the door.

"I'll come with you. I need some air. We'll be back, Sherlock. Keep plugging away!" Christiane jumped up to follow John.

Sherlock mumbled as a response and buried his nose in John's notes.

And with that Christiane and John were heading into the London afternoon air.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a breezy, overcast day, and John was leading them a few blocks away to a decent Chinese food place that Sherlock had taken him to when they first met.

_You can tell the quality of a Chinese restaurant by the bottom third of the door handle_. John recalled Sherlock explaining to him. He chuckled to himself and turned his attention to Christiane who had her hands shoved in her pockets.

"It seems to me, if you really want to hear it," John started. Christiane looked up at him like a sad little child and nodded. "Losing your job wouldn't be the worst thing in the world for you." Her eyes widened immensely. "Take a second. Clearly, you've approached us to sniff out some ill-doings in your circle that you don't approve of. It can't be that nice of a place for you to be. Maybe a new start wouldn't be so bad. What did you do before you were Ms. High-to-do-FDA?"

Christiane let out a snort, "I worked retail pharmacy. The money was nothing compared to the FDA, but I also wasn't selling my soul. I could sleep at night. Most nights, anyway. I loved the people, ya know? I loved feeling like I was making a difference. What am I talking about. Of course you know. You're a doctor, you solve crimes, and you fought the war in Afghanistan. You couldn't be making more of a meaningful difference in this world if you were…" Christiane looks up to the sky with tears in her eyes and sighs. John turned in front of her, stopping them both from walking. He pulled her into a hug – which clearly she needed.

Her body shuddered a dry sob into his shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his torso. They weren't far off from height. It was actually a struggle at a glance to see who was taller.

"And there you go again, Doctor Watson. Making a difference," Christiane sniffed and sighed into his shoulder, she was taking in the moment and the comfort. John was not even registering his romantic feelings at the moment. She needed the support, and it was in his nature to be able to offer it.

_He smells so good. It a natural musk with a hint of almost cedar. He's so warm. Nothing like Sherlock's frigidness. John's a great comfort. _

John's phone buzzed in his pocket. "Bullocks," he muttered under his breath. He rubbed her back one more time as she looked up at him. "I have to check that. It could be Sherlock."

She pulled up off him and straightened her ponytail, "No problem."

**Mycroft's here. Don't return. Wait for word. –SH 1:07pm**

"Looks like we'll get to enjoy lunch as a sit-down," John offered optimistically.

"What's going on?" Christiane was concerned by sudden change of plans.

"Brotherly visit at the flat. Sherlock will let us know when we can go back." John shrugged. This apparently happened all the time. "So still Chinese or should we up the pot a bit?"

Christiane smirked, "What did you have in mind, Doctor Watson? Remember! I'm trusting you with my dietary well-being." They chuckled.

"There's a nice little Italian –"

"Oh dear God, no…I've had New York City Italian food. That's a stop over from Italy. I can only imagine the horrors my taste buds will endure eating Italian food in London." Christiane's face twisted in such a look of disgust. "No offense, John, I'm sure you enjoy it thoroughly. It's only because you don't know any better." She condescendingly patted him on the head, smirking. John just rolled his eyes.

"Alright. It's settled then. I'm taking you to the Canteen up the street for a real taste of English fare." Christiane's eyes widened nervously.

"English food and I have never really made an acquaintance."

"First time for everything," it was John's turn to wink at her as he took her wrist as started leading her up the street. Once they got some momentum, he let go.

Once they arrived, John held open the heavy oak door for Christiane whom blushed at the gesture. She knew that Sherlock did it to increase his odds at sex. John was doing it because he was a gentleman. She suddenly resented Sherlock and his intentions very much.

They sat down to their table and Christiane took in the environment. It was a homey place. The stereotypical "English tavern" feel: lots of solid wooden features, dark but sufficient lighting, brass fixtures. It was strangely warm and inviting. Christiane smiled at the atmosphere. John smiled warmly at her reaction.

"Shall we?" John picked up the menu that was in front of him.

"Oh! Yeah, definitely!" Christiane skimmed it briefly, pursing her lips at the side and knitting her eyebrows.

John chuckled at the sight, "Problem?"

"I'm a little out of my depth here. It's not quite hamburgers and French fries, ya know," she quipped.

John laughed heartily again, "I would hope not! I can order for you, if you'd like." John was saying with an air of question. Christiane got a little bit of a pleading look on her face, hiding her face behind the menu.

_She is so adorable. When she lets down her walls, she's really just an adorable, down-to-Earth woman. The extreme sex appeal act is very alluring, too, but I really like this side of her. It's more real. _

The waitress came up to the table and winked at John, "What can I get for you, sweetheart?"

John looked around nervously and looked at Christiane, whose hands were folded neatly on her menu. She was smiling at the scene unfolding before her. John's eyes almost begged "help." John straightened his back.

"Um…yes…right….Well, I will have the Bangers and Mash. And…um…the lady here will have the Cottage Pie." John felt like everyone's eyes were on him. This was not completely inaccurate. The waitress and Christiane were looking at him, transfixed. The waitress reached for John's menu, brushing his hand as she did. John jumped and moved his hand to the other side of the table.

Christiane, not missing a beat, extended her to grab his. John looked horribly alarmed. "Thanks, babe. I really love when ya take such good care of me when I'm he'e." She was speaking with a very thick New York City accent. "I don't know how we can do dis distance much longer. We really gotta buy dat house ya keep talkin' about." She looked over at the waitress and winked. The flustered woman grabbed the other menu and scurried off to place their orders. Christiane pulled her hand away and let out a loud laugh.

John was stunned, "What was THAT?!"

Christiane was still chuckling softly, "you're welcome."

"Uh, thank you?"

"I saw how uncomfortable she was making you, so I came to your rescue," she was still chuckling. "You've been doing it enough for me today."

"Yes, but the accent?"

"Just a bit of fun. The more foreign they think I am, the more exotic I seem. More unreachable." Christiane let out a big sigh. "Hey, John?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you. For all of this." John nodded silently. Nothing needed to be said.

Their food came rather quickly. Christiane examined hers amusingly to John. She sniffed at it, but it didn't seem to offend her, so she took a forkful to her mouth.

"Mm! This is good!"

John snickered, "you say that like we can't do anything well." Christiane shrugged. John mocked indignation. His pocket buzzed. John rolled his eyes. "Sherlock…"

**Coast clear. Hurry back. –SH 2:17p**

**Eating. Be back when we can. –JW 2:19p**

**How can you still be eating?! It's just takeaway. – SH 2:20p**

**Went to Canteen's when you said to stall. Be back soon. –JW 2:21p**

**Be there in 10 – SH 2:21p**

**Don't! We'll be back soon. –JW 2:21p**

**Too late. Already left. –SH 2:22p**

John mumbled some curses under his breath and shoved his phone aggressively back in his pocket.

"Trouble in paradise?" Christiane quipped playfully.

"Looks like we're getting a third." Christiane groaned and rolled her eyes.

"But I was having fun! Sherlock makes me have to work. Ugh!" They both chuckled.

"So…" John had a faint blush creeping on his cheeks as he ate his food, "You and Sherlock, huh?"

Christiane almost choked on her Cottage Pie and had to grab her water glass. She hadn't expected John to ask about that.

_Strange, Sherlock is very predictable to me. He has patterns. Mathematical reasonings. John does things he feels. That's not something you can predict. He keeps me on my toes._

"Um, yeah. Pretty much." Christiane huffed. John's eyebrows almost flew off his face, they raised so high.

"Oh. Was it not…" John trailed off.

Christiane cleared her throat, she was now blushing, too, "It wasn't so much that. Sherlock is very….scientific. That was the arrangement he proposed, actually. A scientific exploration. And well, when it's been something that's been absent in your life for as long as it was in mine? You'll take any arrangement. Sherlock being Sherlock, he can….figure things out." This was extremely awkward for Christiane. She was squirming in her seat. John had a perplexingly difficult expression to read. "And I really thought that he intrigued me so thoroughly that it was a tantalizing concept."

"What was wrong about it?" John had an unjudging expression on his face. Just asking her.

"The feelings. They weren't there. Sure, one-nights stands, yadda yadda yadda. But those you at least have that smudge feeling of conquest in the morning." Christiane chuckled. "Well, at least I do. I don't drink. I've never heard any complaints either." She winked at John who turned beet red.

"Sherlock's not known for feelings." Their plates were empty now, and the waitress came back to clear, a glare in her eyes. Christiane beamed up at her, chin in her hands.

"Tell me about it. When I woke up in the morning, I felt like I was being calculated and analyzed. Like the whole night was being processed for data." Christiane tensed. She leaned in to John, "this is where we change the subject because Sherlock just walked in."

"Wha? How?" John looked around and sure enough Sherlock was walking towards them from the door. "You're good. You're very good."

"Really, Doctor Watson? If I didn't have some semblance of intelligence, I wouldn't be in the position of power I am." Christiane's mask was back on. Her arrogance. Her false identity.

John leaned in to her and very quietly before Sherlock reached the table, "I don't like that, ya know? You're a lot more attractive when you're just being yourself." He leaned back smiling softly at her.

Christiane had a look of shock on her face and her mouth was slightly agape. Her eyes studying John's face to try to calculate things.

_Did I really let my guard down that much with him? I didn't even realize. What was I doing? Oh….Oh no. I fell into his arms sobbing before. And I let him comfort me. Oh…I let him pick my food. He saw my weakness. People don't see that. Not in a long time. John is a liability. Why do I trust him so easily. That happens a lot. It happened with Sherlock. Strange._

"Christiane…" John piped up, breaking her attention. Sherlock was standing next to the table, and John had the check in his hand. Christiane's eyes came back to focus and met his. "Flies." John smirked victoriously. Christiane was very aware of her posture then. She scowled firmly at John pushing herself up from the table.

"Doctor Watson, it is an extremely unattractive quality to use wit to break one of their concentration," the words she spoke did not match her eyes. Her heart rate was slightly increased, as well. She didn't want to stand too close to Sherlock because she knew he would notice. "Mr. Holmes, I've been informed there was a meeting with dear, sweet Mycroft."

John was leaving money on the table and pushing himself up to join them.

"Yes, there was. We'll discuss it back at Baker Street." The trio walked out of Canteen, Sherlock leading the way.


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock waved down a cab at the curb in front of Canteen. He got in a slid across the seat. John and Christiane looked at each other sheepishly. Christiane slid in next, then John. John barely closed the door before the cab was moving. The fit was a little tight, Christiane gently pressed both between Sherlock and John. Sherlock was oblivious to the contact as he starred out the window, his gears turning.

John looked down at where their thighs touched and cleared his throat to break the tension.

"So…I finally tried English food. My palate is tainted," Christiane said with a chuckle. She was attempting to break the silence after a horribly awkward meal with one John Watson.

"Unless there was poison in your food, I doubt your palate is tainted." Sherlock quipped still staring out the window.

"Oh, but there are food particles in my mouth. And germ activity. If you think about it, every time you eat and drink your palate is tainted. Brushing your teeth puts as much foreign bodies into your mouth as it removes." She was being completely sarcastic and trying to prove a point about Sherlock being overly serious. Not that he took her seriously in her sweatshirt.

Sherlock shot an exasperated look in her direction.

"Lighten up, Sherlock!" She pushed his leg playfully.

"With my current complexion, I do believe 'lightening up' is a near impossibility"

"Was that a joke? Be still my heart! Sherlock Holmes made a joke. We'll have to work on it, but it's a good starting point." Christiane was feigning astonishment while John chuckled on the other side of the cab at her attempts to pry open Sherlock's Pandora's Box.

They slowed in front of 221B and they piled out of the cab. Sherlock from his side, John from his, and Christiane having to choose a side. John was holding the door and offering a hand for her while Sherlock just walked away leaving the door open. He was already paying the cabbie and walking towards the flat.

She slid out of John's side of the car, not taking his hand. After all, she had her pride. "Thank you, John"

She trotted up behind Sherlock as he was going up the stairs. "What's your deal?"

"I'm sure I don't understand."

"Are we just going to shrug each other off all day?" Sherlock grimaced in response to her comment. He opened the door to their apartment while he heard John running up the stairs.

"Didn't want to wait, I see?" John said bemusingly.

"Honestly, John, your inability to keep up with my pace is no relevance to the pace at which I walk." Sherlock went to sit on the couch with the case files.

Christiane just stood there. "So, we're back. What happened with Mycroft?"

Sherlock's hands were steepled under his chin. "It seems that this is a much more complicated case than originally anticipated. Mycroft is well aware of the tainting of the medications, however, apparently to withhold any involved parties would cause a worldwide ripple in the medical community. Mycroft has been closing his eyes to this for quite a while. Not that I will be deterred by it. But I see my future actions being carefully monitored and perhaps interceded"

"Sounds like it would do more good in the Medical community than anything else." John quipped.

"Yes, but finances, John, finances. One of the largest producers of generic medications becomes inactivated. This results in more outsourcing, higher level of regulatory investigations, higher insurance costs, as well as less availability to these particular medications."

John and Christiane scowled at the thought.

"Well, I can leave you guys to work. I have some things to do to prepare for the conference, anyway. I think I'm going to take a cab back to the hotel."

"Nonsense. Everything you need to work is in the briefcase you brought along. And leaving just to return in the morning is a waste of resources. You'll sleep here tonight." Sherlock shut down her plan very quickly.

"Do I get a say?" Christiane laughed lightly.

"No." Sherlock smirked deviously at her.

She picked up her bag and sat next to Sherlock on the couch. Taking out some of her paperwork, she crossed her legs at the knee, and began working diligently.

John came out from the kitchen with tea mugs. He handed one to Sherlock, whom waved him off. He put it on a clear spot in the table. He handed one to Christiane whom nodded and smiled. And he sat with the third himself.

"I didn't realize 'tea-time' in England was still a thing," Christiane smirked into her tea cup.

"It's always tea time in London," John retorted chuckling at the idea.

The three of them sat in near silence and diligently worked into the night. Christiane was the first to break. It was about 12:30am. She put her pile of neatly organized papers on the floor by her feet. She stretched long through her torso, reaching up to the sky.

"Alright, I'm tired. Move." Christiane tried to push Sherlock off the couch. He didn't budge but looked at her incredulously instead.

"What are you doing?" His voice was biting, and his eyebrows knit together.

"I want to go to sleep. You need to get up so I can," she weakly pushed at him a little more.

"You are really incorrigible. If you are that tired, go sleep in my bed. Top of the stairs, to the right."

Christiane scowled. Studying Sherlock's expression. She couldn't read him while he was working, and her mind wasn't as sharp as the day wore on. She knew an argument was futile because Sherlock always got his way. Christiane sighed and started trudging towards the stairs. "Good night, John. I'll see you in the morning."

"I think I'm going to get some sleep myself, Sherlock. Try to actually sleep tonight," John piled his papers, and grabbed the FDA Guide from next to him. He wasn't going to leave it around Sherlock. Shortly after John was in bed, Sherlock was concentrating on his shut door.

_There was the understanding that there would be less contact now that the case was active. What would the physical release do to my transport during this period of high concentration? Release isn't necessary, and Christiane wasn't nearly as alluring today as yesterday. However, the theory that is often held that a physical release increases ease of thought is an interesting postulate. I found that with Cocaine in the past. Would it hold true with sexual encounters?_

_I must test this further._

Sherlock silently went up the stairs as to not arouse suspicion from John. He creaked open his door and saw the sleeping form of the curvaceous Christiane lying there breathing. Her skin was bathed in the light from the hallway giving her a porcelain glow.

Her hair was tightly braided yet still showed wear from sleep. She was curled and half covered with the blanket. Sherlock could see she had shed herself of her clothing except for her tee shirt and a pair of playful panties. They tightly curved around her cheeks. The remaining clothes were neatly folded next to the bed with her purse weighing them down.

Sherlock fully entered the room and closed the door behind him. He deposited his shoes, over-shirt, and socks in their appropriate place and sat on the bed opposite Christiane.

His fingers traced curves along Christiane's side, gently he followed each curve along from her shoulder to her thigh. Feather-light touches. He was studying her, reading her: the way she breathed, the way her skin pulled along her torso, the way her muscles rippled under his touch. She stirred slightly and let out a protesting groan.

_ Clearly, she needs more stimulation._

He gently began kissing the curve of her hip. He nibbled slightly trying to provoke a response. She moaned happily, but she appeared to remain asleep. Sherlock bent over her to nibble at her neck, kissing the marks he left before. He felt her heart rate increasing under his touch. He trailed kisses along her jawline and felt her smile as he did.

A strange surge of adrenaline pressed through his veins. He was caught. He wanted to be caught, but it was still exciting his system. Christiane was unpredictable, and there was no way to know what would happen next.

Her hands flew to his shoulder with mild resistance from him. Christiane flipped Sherlock to his back. As powerful as he was, he enjoyed being conquered by her in this moment. Not to say he didn't make it a little easier for her to take him. That was part of the fun.

"Looks like someone wants to play," she said teasingly as she nipped at his jaw.

"Experiment, my dear. This is science not games," he quipped yet a smile played on his face.

She held his shoulders down and leaned in to his ear. Licking on his love, she whispered, "if it's not fun, it's not worth doing." Before Sherlock could argue, plump, soft lips were closed around his. Passionate kisses exchanged back and forth.

Christiane started kissing down his jawbone. Sherlock placed his hands on her waist as she kissed down. Sherlock was trying to pull her tee off. She sat up with her weight centered on his groin.

_ Exhilarating. She is exceptionally skilled. _

The shirt fluttered to the ground.

Christiane went to work on his button up, gradually undoing each button. She slid down until she was straddling his legs. She lifted his undershirt to get to his alabaster stomach. Her kisses danced around his muscular abdomen causing him to shudder in pleasure.

_This time is not as feverish as before. She's much more in control of herself. The desperation is replaced by pure want. This experiment is much more fruitful. _

To assist her, he pulled his tops off with some degree of difficulty as she was lying on his hard member.

He grunted as she squirmed on top of him, furthering his desire. This was calculated, though. Neither would lose themselves to passion this time.

Christiane then did something that Sherlock had never seen: her head lowered to his still clothed crotch and moved her mouth to his fastenings. Her hands supported her weight on either side of his hips. He felt his buttons unbutton then his zipper lowered with the use of just her lips. She winked at him. He sat up on his elbows to watch and study her actions.

"How did you-"  
>"I played flute for fifteen years," she chuckled, dismissing him.<p>

"Not enough. Tell me how. Don't sully the research." She pursed her lips to the side but refused to let him spoil the moment.

Pushing herself up to meet his lips, she bit, licked, and sucked to a satisfying answer for Sherlock.

As she pulled away, he muttered, "fascinating."

She kissed down his body and lightly (or not so lightly) bit his right nipple. His were small and dark for his complexion.

"Ow," Sherlock hissed. It wasn't an altogether bad feeling, though.

"Pay attention. _Mr. Holmes._ There's more experimenting to do."

She pulled his erect penis out of his pants.

_Having time to admire it, it's decent. Nothing to write home about, but nice size. His ego is bigger. Hah!_

He looked at her expectantly like waiting for a beaker to boil. She winked teasingly and took the tip of his member into her mouth. Licking at the underside of his head, Sherlock moaned in delight.

"Mmm…" Sherlock let out a guttural moan as Christiane took more of him in, her hands steady on his hips. "Where did you learn that, Woman?!" Sherlock let out a yelp of pleasure when she took all of him in. He could feel the back of her throat with his tip. She lapped at the underside of his member as he was fully in her mouth.

Sherlock threw his head back and moaned loudly. Christiane slurped and popped off his throbbing erection.  
>"You, Sherlock Holmes, need to be quiet," she said as she teasingly stroked his aching penis.<br>"That is an unreasonable request with the actions you are taking," Sherlock was always formal. "Why must I remain silenced?"  
>"Because John, ya know, your roommate? Is in the next room. Courtesy, Sherlock," she lazily rubbed his penis.<p>

"I refuse to-" Sherlock's words were muffled by Christiane's forceful lips. Her body was pressed against his.

"You refuse, that's fine. I don't. It's rude. And I don't want John hating me in the morning," she kissed him chastely, a difference from before. Then she proceeded to shove his undershirt from the side of his bed into his mouth. He tried to spit it out but it was too far into his mouth.

"Ya see, dear, sweet Sherlock…This will be a lot better if you just shut up for a few minutes. She wiggled over his crotch. Sherlock's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he attempted to moan. Instead it came out as a muffled nothing.

"Ready for the real experiment?" Christiane looked at him seductively, but all he could muster was a quizzical look. "Oh, I know what you're thinking. That was just the hypothesis. Her eyes flickered of fire. She wiggled out of her panties. Sherlock caught on quickly and wormed himself out of his lower levels. He tried not to be frantic.

_ I can't let her control me this way. It is just transport. I am the master of it. I am the only master_.

Sherlock took a breath. Reaching into his bedside drawer, he pulled out the appropriate protection. He also pulled the shirt out of his mouth. "Is the gag really necessary?"

"Necessary? No. No, it's not." Christiane retorted. "But it's fun." She giggled maniacally.

After necessary arrangements, Christiane positioned herself directly above Sherlock, "Ready?" She winked at him. He put his hands on her hips and guided her forcibly down onto his waiting erection.

They both hissed in pleasure. Christiane slowly worked her voluptuous body up and down eliciting writhing responses from Sherlock. He moaned loudly.  
>Christiane paused, "See, I think I could trust you to stay quiet. In with the shirt." She shoved his undershirt back into his mouth and she ground down on his member. Sherlock bucked up. Obviously enjoying it very much. The speed picked up until Christiane couldn't help but bite her lip to maintain her own silence.<p>

"Oh, Sherlock," she moaned breathlessly. Her supple breasts bounced with her torso as she rode Sherlock. His hands guided her hips up and down. Christiane leaned forward and pulled the shirt out of Sherlock's mouth. In one motion, she kissed him passionately. They moaned in unison, approaching their ending.  
>"Oh God. Oh, God, Sherlock," Christiane buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her body tensed as she released her tension.<br>"Dear God!" Sherlock moaned as he too released himself.

Fully spent, the two lie together breathing heavily.

Christiane lifted her head, and planted a kiss on the side of his mouth. "Experiment successful?" She smiled at him. Deviousness replaced with patronizing.  
>"Verily," was all he said as he huffed out his exhaustion. Christiane rolled off of Sherlock both of them whimpering at the loss of contact. Christiane curled up on the bed with a satisfied smile on her face.<p>

Sherlock hopped up very quickly and grabbed his robe from his bureau.  
>"Where are you going?" Christiane sat up slightly.<p>

"Back to work. There's a case to solve."

She looked at him incredulously.  
><em>I knew the arrangement. I have no right to get mad, but I can't help but be furious.<em>

Before she could protest, Sherlock was out the door and tied up in his robe.

Christiane grumpily fell asleep.  
><em>It's hard not to feel like a one-night stand with him…<em>


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock hurriedly left the bedroom after his romp with Christiane. After a quick clean up in the bathroom, he hurried down to the case files.

_ Interesting result. Sexual relations elicit similar physical response and mental acuity as cocaine. Many people would find this a much more suitable alternative; however, it is more difficult to procure. A higher rate of infectious contact, as well._

Sherlock ran back and forth in the living room. He was sorting out the details in his head.

"Leflux. Richard Callaway. Pryor Callaway. Molten Works. It all fits too perfectly. I'm missing something. SOMEthing is missing." Sherlock slammed his fist against the mantle.

"Why would Richard Callaway risk incrimination and the 43 lawsuits to assist his cousin? What is it about Molten Works that is so worth saving? There are minimal repercussions of declaring a company bankrupt. What is the benefit?"

Sherlock prattled on like that until dawn. He didn't even hear John stirring above him shortly after 7am.

John slept fitfully. It was another night of bad dreams. John threw on a jumper and went into the bathroom. He washed his face and brushed his teeth. Then he spotted the slimy deposited rubber in the bathroom garbage.

He groaned out loud at the sight, "Seriously?!" He was a little louder than he'd hoped to be.

_It's bad enough that I fancy her and she's got eyes for Sherlock. Do they have to flaunt it in my face?_

John's extended dry spell didn't help his frustration.  
><em>Ruddy fantastic morning!<em>

John walked down and into the kitchen completely ignoring Sherlock in ONLY his robe sitting on the couch concentrating.

He made himself a cuppa and sat at the kitchen table.

"Honestly, Sherlock. Can't you put on some clothes?" John's tone was bitter.

"John, clothes are stifling, and I need to think."

"Your freedom stifles the rest of us." John shot back.

"I highly doubt that."

"JUST PUT SOME DAMN CLOTHES ON, SHERLOCK!"

Christiane was sleepily coming out of Sherlock's room, dressed again in her clothing from yesterday.

"Geez, don't wanna let a girl sleep, huh?" Christiane noticed the tension in the room. "Did I miss something?"

"John seems to have a problem with my liberation from clothing."

"Yeah, hun, we all do." Christiane's use of 'hun' bit into John even more. He slammed his mug down forcibly and stormed up to his bedroom door.

"And YOU'RE taking out the bathroom trash," he yelled to Sherlock below and slammed his door behind him.

"Sherlock, what was that about? Why is John screaming at you at 7 o'clock in the morning?" Christiane had a bubble of nervousness in her chest.

"Really? How is it not obvious to you? Are you really that dull upon waking?" Sherlock was tired of emotions and games.

"I really think that's a little out of line, don't you?" Christiane's arms were crossed in front of her now.

"Last night, we had intercourse. I disposed of the prophylactic in the bathroom trash along with the soiled tissues. John had a poor night of sleep as evident by the bags under his eyes. In his already depleted state, he entered the bathroom as he does every morning, and saw my disposals. I don't understand why he's so upset, though. It's perfectly illogical."

"You are the dumbest smart person I know, Sherlock," Christiane huffed. "Get dressed and take out the damn trash."

"Why do you feel the need to tell me how to be in my own flat?" Sherlock's tone was short.

"Because you're an insensitive clod that only cares about himself? And I'm a woman very in tune with others' emotions. So, unless you want a fight with your best friend, clean up."

Christiane walked up the stairs and lightly rapped on John's door, "John, it's Christiane. Can I come in?"

John opened the door slightly, but was already walking back across the room. He was trying to maintain the best amount of distance possible.

"John, can you stop for a minute and talk to me? Just sit. Please."

"I'm not rightly interested in hearing the details of your and Sherlock's romp so spare me."

Christiane sighed, "Please, John. I just want to talk to you. You're upset, and I get that."

John was still pacing like a tiger on the opposite side of the room. Out of the blue Christiane raised her voice, "John Hamish Watson, you stop pacing and sit down now." John was taken aback and begrudgingly sat on his bed. Christiane sat on the floor next to him, not wanting any wrong ideas. "Look what you made me do. You made me break out the 'Mommy Voice.'" Christiane chuckled and John cracked a smile.

"Does that work with everyone?" He quipped.

"Yeah, pretty much. Unless their mothers themselves. Then the jig is up." Christiane let out a short laugh. "I have a pretty good idea of why, but humor me: Why's there a bee in your bonnet today?"

John scoffed, "people don't usually ask me that."

"Well I am. Speak up."

"What do you see in him? Why Sherlock? He's rude, disrespectful, inconsiderate, and a general louse."

"You forgot something…"

"What?" John asked, a gruff in his voice.

"He's easy." The two of them let out a hardy laugh.

"Is that really what it is? Please tell me you're not that kind of girl."

"In all seriousness, that's about the long and short of it. I have been in an excruciating dry spell. Painful, even. And he's easy to figure out. He's all numbers. A giant 5th grade puzzle. I'm already growing tired of it, though." Christiane threw her head into his mattress.

"Easy? He's EASY to figure out? Are we talking about the same Sherlock?"

"Yes, we are. See, Sherlock is a map. A little confusing to read, but you still know where you're going. He will never feel compassion; he will only be out for the thrill of something shiny and new to hold his attention for five seconds." John snorted a laugh. "Someone like you, though? There's emotions and depth. It's hard to read someone with emotions because, by nature, emotions are unpredictable. You're a lot more fascinating than Sherlock, and I don't know why he thinks the reverse. He hasn't figured you out yet, which he wouldn't admit to." Christiane blushed a little as she realized the praise she was showering on Watson. He puffed his chest a little higher.

"So you and him?"

"That's the thing. I wanted more out of Sherlock than he was capable of giving. It became painfully obvious yesterday when he practically sprinted out of his room after….well…that. I'm just his current shiny object and once he's thinks he's solved me, he'll toss me away like everything else." Christiane frowned at that thought, her heart heavy. "I know that. But it doesn't make it suck less. I am an emotional being. More than he will ever know. He views me as competition. But I'm not and I don't want to be. I imagine his amusement with me will be shorter than my convention. He's set this up as a distanced scientific arrangement. Which is all well and good for this second. But I'll be going back to America to a benign case of heart break and back into my work, Heaven allowing."

"That's horrible," John slumped down to sit next to her on the floor. "I'm used to getting used by Sherlock all the time. I live with it because…well I don't know why. He's made my life interesting again. I'm a man of action and he gives me danger through his recklessness. No woman deserves that, though. Especially not you." John pursed his lips in a scowl.

"So we're settled now? Are you okay? Ya gonna be able to lend me that stellar medical brain of yours again today?" Christiane chuckled, pulling herself up from the floor and offered John Watson her hand for assistance. He took it and nodded firmly. "Alright, let's shake some cages then!"

"You say the oddest things, and something tells me it's not just because you're American."

"Yeah…you're probably right."

They walked down the stairs laughing and joking. Sherlock was dressed and sitting amongst case files.

"All squared away then?" He piped from the couch.

"For now," Christiane was the one to answer for John. "Back to work?"

"Yes. John, get dressed. We have somewhere to be."


	9. Chapter 9

"Where are we going, Sherlock?" He asked his usual question in these scenarios.

"To meet someone."

"Who are we meeting?"

"John, I don't have time to answer these questions right now." Sherlock gruffed. His gears still playing in his head. "I advise that you come armed."

"Armed?!" Christiane was in shock.

"Don't you start, Ms. Madrigal. I can only take one person making obvious statements, and you are clearly above that. Please don't degenerate intellectually because of a fear response. That simply won't do."

Christiane's breathing was shallow and labored. Suddenly her throat was dry. "We're going to meet someone that we need to be armed? What the hell is going on, Sherlock?!" Her voice was raising but shaking.

"'We' constitutes John and myself. Not you."

"Funny. You think I'm going to sit around while you risk your lives for my case? Really hilarious," her sarcasm was tense.

"Please do not break into hysterics at this point. There are things to be done and a hysterical woman is useless." Sherlock was oblivious to his insults. Christiane, however, was greatly hurt.

"I'm going." She said firmly.

"I don't have time to argue with you. John, your weapon. I will meet you outside."

"Does he always do this?" Christiane's voice raised an octave.

"Yes." John ran up to his room and came out stuffing his gun in the back of his waistband.

"I would prefer if you stayed here, Christiane. I don't want anything to happen to you, and I can't guarantee your safety." John was endearing and considerate.

"Alright. I'll stay here but only because you asked nicely." Christiane half-smiled. John was heading towards the door when Christiane called after him, "you be careful, Dr. Watson!"

_Every time that I walk out of that door with Sherlock, I never know if I will be coming back. This could be my last chance._

John closed the gap between them and pulled her by the waist into a kiss. She was tense and resisted at first. However, she quickly melted into the tender kiss.

"I'll be careful," John said pulling away and turning to walk out the door. He left Christiane wondering what exactly just happened.

John and Sherlock were entering an unsavory neighbor. It was not one that John was familiar with.

Sherlock was pondering something. He was staring out the window he's eyes transfixed.

"Do you really care so little for her?" John's voice was granted confidence by the kiss he snagged. Her fruit taste lingering on his lips.

"Useless…" Sherlock hissed. They were pulling up to a shadowy, decrepit storefront with the windows boarded up. "We're here."

Sherlock immediately got out of the car while John stayed behind a minute. "Let's go!" Sherlock shouted.

_Sherlock's gone too far. Poor woman. She's so fragile. So soft. I know she fears for Sherlock and me. How much for each? I can't waste any more opportunities if I make it out of here. _

Sherlock scowled, pulling John along. "You're wasting time, John. Precisely two minutes and sixteen seconds." John rolled his eyes.

"What are we doing here, Sherlock?"

"We're meeting a black marketer." John's heart dropped and he sighed heavily. "I made arrangements to buy a small order of the Palladium through the connection on the website. It was indeed the FDA President. I need samples to compare the chemical composition to the tainted samples we already have." They walked into the storefront from a side entrance. It was dusty and dark. Light shining from the cracks in the boarded up window. Sherlock pointed to the backroom. They separated slightly and Sherlock approached silently. John approached with enough distance to draw his gun, if needed.

Knocking in a rhythmic pattern on the door, Sherlock was greeted by a small, squirrely accountant-type with large wire-rimmed glasses. Very near to him was a hippopotamus of a man covered in gang tattoos. Reminiscent of those of the Hell's Angels. There was another large, burly man in the back. He was smaller yet taller than the first, and also, a Hell's Angel. He was gathering a small wooden box and bringing it to a folding table in the center of the room. There was one chair in the corner.

The accountant-type man did not usher Sherlock and John into the room. "You're here on business."

"I was sent from the downtown office. They said there was a package to pick up." Sherlock was clearly reciting a script. John was tense watching the exchange. His hand ready to reach for the gun at the small of his back. _God, I hope you know what you're doing._

"They didn't mention anything about you bringing a colleague." The short glasses-faced man indicated John. John held in a breath. This seemed off-script.

"He's a trainee. He's just shadowing me for the day." The accountant eyed John suspiciously, but nodded slowly. He motioned to the taller man across the room to bring the wooden box over. The accountant took the box, and lifted the lid. Inside was a plastic container holding what was obviously Palladium shavings. Sherlock studied them closely.

"It seemed pointless to ship this when it only weighed 3.2 oz. It was hardly worth the fiver. The downtown office agreed to send you to pick it up." The accountant was still talking in code.

"Accounts Receivable said that everything was taken care of as far as expenses. Everything is to be filed under the T. Harrison account. Here's the paperwork." Sherlock handed him a small folded piece of paper. The accountant opened it and smiled.

"Alright. We're done here. I'll let downtown know it's taken care of." The accountant handed him the box, and closed the door behind them. Sherlock started walking out of the building through the side entrance again. The box tightly shoved in his pocket.

"What the hell was th-" John started to ask in a harsh whisper as they were walking away.

"Walk," was all Sherlock said.

They were out of the building and approaching the cab now. Sherlock turned to John before they reached it. "That was a black market buy. They have the building wired for their own personnel. However, many authority figures also have the building bugged. Hence, the code. We are very fortunate that the exchange went as smoothly as it did, John. I learned very probative information in that room. We must hurry back to the apartment. As to not be seen."

They reached the cab and silently, quickly piled into it. The cab driver pulled away in a hurry.

"Are we returning to Baker Street?"

"For now. There will be more to investigate once I have these results."

Christiane heard the door open below and sat on the edge of her seat. John and Sherlock walked through the door.

_Oh thank God. They're okay. That felt like forever. My heart was in my chest. How do they do this all the time?! _

Christiane scrambled over to the door. John greeted her, "are you alright?" He asked immediately and soothingly.

"Am I alright?! Are you alright? What happened?" Christiane was ranting

"We're safe for now," Sherlock answered. "We were obtaining samples of the Palladium that is being sold on the black market through Leflux under the Molten Works website. I sent up the exchange with your supervisor as the mediary. The exchange was successful, and now we must investigate further."

Sherlock was always calculating and distant. It was strictly facts, and Christiane needed reassurance and comfort. Sherlock was not giving her that. Sherlock looked down to her and saw her frightened form shivering in the doorway as her and John listened to the explanation.

_Pale features. Dialated pupils. Convulsive muscles. Tense posture. Reclusive stance. Arms crossed in front of chest. Slight pout and quivering bottom lip. A very full, plump bottom lip. _Sherlock's mind flew to the previous night's sexual escapades. _No, this is not the time to be thinking that. _Sherlock chastised himself. _Clearly, she is fearful. Most likely for her safety. However, she keeps glancing between John and myself, as well. Fearing for our safety? Looking to us for protection, perhaps? _

"Harm will not befall you, as long as you remain in our care and do exactly as we say." Sherlock's words were not exactly caring, but not exactly calculating. They were almost warning as if someone was reprimanding a small child. Sherlock was really not good at emotions. Especially not when he was working a case. In an effort to build a firming connection with his sexual partner, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She tensed at the touch. John shot him a you-really-don't-know-what-the-hell-you're-doing-do-you look.

John lifted his jumped over his head to reveal a clean white undershirt. He lay the jumper over Christiane's back and rubbed her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said in a small voice.

"Why? You didn't do anything," John said softly.

"I feel like I got in the way. I may be a great book worm, but I'm no good in the line of fire." Christiane chuckled. "Looks like Sherlock is the perfect combination of you and me then, huh, Doctor Watson?" Her shivering slowed. Sherlock shot an incredulous look across the car. 

_How could she say that? What correlation could I have to either of their abilities. Christiane, I can see. Her ability to analyze rivals mine greatly. I admit, I am envious. But John? He is just a foot soldier. He is a man of action. He's a seasoned veteran. Not anything comparable to- Oh…._It dawned on Sherlock. John was much more apt at fire arms than he was. He was also quite apt at combat and instinctually dangerous situations. He had strong will. _I do blend them both aptly. Interesting._

Sherlock was staring out the window as rain started to fall. He noticed out of his peripheral vision that John was pulling Christiane to the couch. They sat and he pulled her to his side, an arm cradled around her shoulders. Heat flared in Sherlock's chest.

"You're going to be okay, right?" John said softly looking down at her with caring eyes.

"Yeah," she said into his shoulder. "I'm a big girl. I'll be okay." They chuckled.

Sherlock turned his head over to look at them. _Why do I feel such rage towards John's act of compassion. Why do I feel so irate at his closeness to Christiane. Is it because she was my sexual conquest merely last night? Now she seeks comfort in the arms of my flatmate. She clearly sees me as incapable of emotional comfort. However, that was not the purpose of our exploits. It was simply a physical exploration. Yet, she arises such feelings in me that I cannot control. Jealousy. I must be jealous of John Watson. That's laughable. And there is Christiane curled up in his embrace for comfort and not mine. _Sherlock knit his eyebrows at them. John glanced up at Sherlock with an incredulous look of disdain on his face. _Are we having a silent competition over this woman? That is ridiculous. We are far beyond the realm of petty competitions. However, John is eternally trying to acquire a suitable life-partner. And myself? She puzzles me._

John went to brew some tea. Christiane was perched on the sofa, and Sherlock was busying himself at the kitchen table with the wooden chest.

"I need total silence until I have completed my experiment." Sherlock quipped.

"Is that really necessary, Sher-" Christiane started asking him as John handed her tea.

"Silence, if you please. Until you have recovered your wits, you are useless to me. I will proceed on my own until you are deemed an asset again." His tone was flat and factual. Christiane was clearly hurt, but remained silent as Sherlock worked. John looked at her apologetically as they drank their tea.


	10. Chapter 10

Christiane sat there on the couch, her legs folded underneath her for quite a while. Her and John were studying the case files. Well, John was studying. Christiane was bitterly glancing at. She knew all she could get from it. And she knew there was nothing more she would get. The rest was in Sherlock's head: his conversation with Mycroft, the results of that experiment, that meeting in that store front. All of it she was aggravatingly kept out of.

_I know I hired him. But I thought we were working together on this. I wish he would at least fill me in! Does he do this to John all the time? Does he constantly think people are useless? I've already proven I'm not. He's so infuriating! So arrogant! Ugh!_

Sherlock shot up from the table, "John, let's go!" John looked from Christiane to Sherlock.

"Wh-where are we going?"

"Leflux."

"What?! On what planet does that seem like a good idea?!" Christiane put her legs on the floor, leaning forward.

"I was hired to solve the case. I must investigate further. When I have done so, I will inform you of the results. I'm sure you already know the answer, anyway. You were much more involved in this case than typical clients."

Christiane's jaw fell open. She was speechless. Suddenly, she was just a client. John had met him by the door with the papers by this point. Sherlock's eyes met on Christiane's, and there was fire in his eyes. He took a few strides over to her on the couch and leaned very close to her ear, "flies, my dear." He gently closed her mouth and ghosted his teeth on her ear lobe. She jumped off the couch and slapped him across face. She looked mortified. "Oh, really, we're not going to do _this_ again, are we?" He walked back to the door. He turned back to her, "You are welcome to wait here for our return. Feel free to freshen up." John was standing in the doorway with a warm, angry flush growing on his cheeks. His hands were balled in fists at his sides. "Come, John." Christiane flashed John a looked of _help,_ and they were out the door.

John and Sherlock got into the cab to head to Leflux headquarters, and the doors barely closed before John's anger came out of his mouth.

"What the bloody hell was that?!" John shouted.

"What a ridiculous question, John. That should be obvious."

"Please. Explain, because I am apparently not seeing the situation clearly."

"Christiane and I entered into a carnal agreement." Sherlock explained it all very factually and distant. "I do thank you for offering her emotional comfort this afternoon. That is an area in which - you are aware -I am extremely lacking."

Sherlock took in John's appearance. _Balled fists. Reddened face. Quickened pulse. Shallow breathing. Extreme rage. Urge for violence. Why? Christiane had been correct in John's affections for her. His desire to physically comfort her and soothe her made that apparent. And their sit-in lunch gave John an opportunity to further his affections. However, Christiane has sexual interest in me, not John. Correct? _Suddenly, Sherlock had doubts. _Perhaps the emotional connection with John was stronger than the intellectual connection with me. She instantly relaxed at his touch after the transaction this afternoon. She addressed him in matters of safety. According to Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, it is a human's need for Safety and Emotional Security that must be met before Intellectual Stimulation and Actualization. John grants her the emotional security that I cannot. Clearly, I can grant her safety. Perhaps she does not sense that, though. John is a soldier and a doctor. Perhaps she sees him as more able to grant safety and well-being. _Sherlock's eyes narrowed at John.

"There seems to be a conflict of interest here, John," Sherlock's voice was slow.

"Oh, I would love to see how this conclusion was reached," John crossed his arms in front of him.

"Christiane is clearly my sexual conquest," John clenched his jaws at the way she was referred to. "I offer her extreme intellectual stimulation. However, she may find greater security and emotional comfort in you than I can offer."

"Really?! Well, isn't that a ruddy ironic observation. Sherlock Holmes? Not capable of offering a woman an emotional connection? That's a sorry sod if ever I heard one."

"John, your sarcasm is not appreciated. I'm attempting to offer a compromise." Sherlock was jealous, however, it was appearing as if he just wanted to play with someone else's toys.

"A compromise?! Oh, this is going to be good." John leaned forward. They were nearing Leflux.

"If I am allowed to complete my sexual exploration, then that will be all the data I will need. I will admit that this woman makes it difficult for me to control my desires, and I want to know why. I want to learn how to regain my capacities. Once my experimentation is complete, you are free to pursue a relationship with her." To Sherlock, it made perfect sense. He couldn't have any carnal influence of John's skewing his results.

The cab pulled up to Leflux, and they got out at the curb.

"You have got to be fucking kidding! You're a blimy idiot! That's your compromise? That's a suitable compromise on a human being's affections? Sod off, Sherlock….Honestly…Do you really not understand that she's a woman?" John was shouting now as they were standing in front of Leflux headquarters not moving.

"Christiane is a perfectly logical, confident woman. She will understand the necessity for scientific exploration."

"It's a bloody ACT, Sherlock. She is not as arrogant as you. Did you see her on that couch? She is completely different with me. And you know what? She is not interested in you, anymore. You're too much of a damn machine. She may be a woman of science, but she has a ruddy heart!"

"That's utterly asinine, John. Clearly, she is still interested in a carnal relationship with me."

"She really does cloud your senses, doesn't she? That slap as we were leaving? That was horror. And do you know where she looked for help, mate? ME!" John turned to start walking towards the door of the office building. "And another thing: I kissed her in the flat before we went into that back room."

Sherlock's mind was a whirlwind of the day's events playing and replaying things he had missed. _How?! How did I miss these things?! It's impossible. Was I so focused on the case that human subtleties were irrelevant to me? Damn….It's so obvious now…._

Sherlock started walking into Leflux's lobby. John followed at a distance.

Sherlock was throwing on the charm to the receptionist. An act. Always an act.

"Hi. Richard Calloway called me to investigate falsified records. My name is Sherlock Holmes. If you would be so kind to show me to the records room, I'll be out of the way as soon as possible."

"Um, Mr. Calloway didn't say anything about that to me. Maybe I should page him."

"The quicker I get in there, the quicker I get out. It's a very hush-hush matter, and I don't think I'm even supposed to tell you." Sherlock was really layering it on thick. John rolled his eyes. "If you could just be a doll, and just buzz me in." Sherlock threw a wink at the receptionist. It nauseated John.

"Oh…Okay." She blushed and giggled, "Third floor, second door on the right."

"Thaannnk You," Sherlock leaned in to look at her name tag, "Carla." He threw another wink. He just used everyone the way he wanted.

They ascended to the third floor, and approached the appropriate door.

"John, I need you to keep watch." Sherlock snuck into the records room before John could respond. John crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. The coast was clear.

Sherlock was rooting through files in the records room, and occasionally would snap pictures of some paperwork. At the end of the long hallway, John spotted a few gentlemen in business suits walking towards him. He knocked on the records room door.

"Sherlock!" His voice was a sharp whisper, "Sherlock, get out here."

The small group of workers was approaching more quickly. Sherlock appeared behind John as he attempted to block the direct vision to the records room.

"Let's go," Sherlock said to John in a hushed tone. He took long, hurried strides towards the opposite end of the hall. John was not far behind. The workers started shouting out to John and Sherlock. They started to jog towards them as John and Sherlock darted down the nearest stairwell. With minor maneuvering, they were able to find the loading dock of the building. The general guideline was to head to the basement then find the outer wall of the building. There were workers on the dock, but they didn't care about the two men scurrying out of the doorway and skulking away from the building. They weren't paid enough to have that kind of company loyalty.

When they were far enough away to not be suspicious, Sherlock flagged down a cab.

When the cab pulled up, John put a firm hand in Sherlock's chest. "I'm taking this one alone. You need to think about the lives you're toying with, Sherlock. A brisk walk will help with that." Before he could protest, John got into the cab and had the cabbie drive off.

Sherlock was disgruntled. He didn't understand why everyone was so upset. He flagged down another cab – deliberately ignoring John's orders –and headed to Scotland Yard.


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock walked towards Lestrade's office to see John in there talking heatedly. He pursed his lips and started a determined gait towards the door.

"Oi, Holmes! Lover's spat, eh? Watson looked veeeery upset stormin' through here. You two usually aren't apart like that." Anderson's cheeky vocals stopped Sherlock in his tracks. He pivoted on his heel and took a few strides to meet Anderson's bloated figure. Sherlock towered over him by a foot or more. Starring down coldly at him, Anderson just laughed in his face. "Problem there, private dick?"

"I would retract your statements quickly, if I were you." Sherlock's rage was quickly building inside of him.

"Or what, Holmes? We're in a Bobby Station. Go play cop with your little tagalong in there. Let us do the real work. Then you two can go home and kiss and make up." Anderson was making kissy faces. Donovan was trying to hide snickers, but the rest of the office was holding their breath waiting to see what would happen. Sherlock let out a sharp exhale. Suddenly, Anderson let out a yowl of pain and was crumpling to the floor. Sherlock was retracting his hand from where Anderson's side had been.

Lestrade came bursting out of his office John at his side.

"What the hell is going on here!?"

"Sherlock punched Anderson!" Donovan was shrilling from on the floor by Anderson.

"That's inaccurate, actually. I utilized a sensitive pressure point above the kidneys to render him immobile. There was no fist." Sherlock stood there stoic.

"Sherlock, what were you thinking!" Lestrade threw his head back, "Now, I have to have you detained. Thank you for this, Sherlock. It's going to make both of us look extremely credible." His sarcasm was thick.

"Anderson was projecting derogatory comments not only about my position in this station, but also about John and my sexuality and personal relationship. Rather inaccurately. He was using rather lewd wording to do such, as well. Very unbecoming in a work environment." Sherlock clicked his tongue.

Lestrade was looking around the office. A few officers were trying to busy themselves shuffling papers, while a few others were nodding to confirm Sherlock's story. Lestrade sighed heavily.

"Anderson, you're on a week's suspension. I'm putting this incident in your report. Go home." Anderson got up off the floor with Donovan's help and hobbled out the door licking his wounds like an animal. "Get in here, Sherlock. John was just going over the case with me."

Sherlock, John, and Lestrade went into the DI's office and closed the door. Sherlock leaned in the corner and John and Lestrade took opposing seats.

"So this Leflux company. Richard Calloway's a big guy, you know that, right? Pharmacy's not an easy thing to take down."

"We have sufficient evidence to destroy him and many more." Sherlock assured him.

"John's gone over the contamination and the Palladium refinery. There's a loose connection here, Sherlock, but it's not enough to convict. I need more."

"I have it, I assure you. I arranged for the black market buy as listed on Pryor Calloway's company website, hosted by his cousin, Richard's company."

"You did what?! I didn't hear that. I definitely didn't hear that. We'll just say 'you acquired the information from an unknown source'" Lestrade was shaking his head.

"Upon arrival, there were several things I noticed. The man opening the door was clearly a British executive. However, the henchmen were part of a notorious American motorcycle gang: Hell's Angels. They have been known to do security for many things, yet their reputation tends to be more benevolent. This intensifies the connection to Darryl Wrightman, the Food and Drug Administration President in Washington, D.C." Sherlock studied their faces. Being sure that he had their attention he continued, "In fact, calling the intended phone number, I was directly put in contact with Mr. Wrightman. I was instructed on the address, and the proper way to interact with the persons I would meet." Sherlock discussed the events at the store front while John scowled with his arms crossed in front of him. He was going over what would assumedly be pertinent details, but John thought he was just drawing it out. "Testing the Palladium received in the transaction, it is the EXACT same quality and composition as the shavings in the Leflux bottles. There is your connection, Lestrade. Also," Sherlock pulled a camera memory card from his jacket pocket, "this chip contains requisition bank statements and shipping records, you will find an intensive number of communications between Leflux Pharmaceutical and Molten Works." Sherlock placed his finds on Lestrade's desk. "My job is done."

Lestrade leaned forward. "Who asked you to investigate this?"

"My client's privacy is of the utmost importance. Clearly, you understand." Sherlock shot him a crooked smile.

Lestrade narrowed his eyes and leaned back. "Alright, Sherlock. You understand how major this is, though, right? This is international. I'm going to do what I can, but this may get swept under the rug by big brother…" He pointed up. Sherlock knew exactly what he meant.

"Mycroft is not an issue, I guarantee." John glared at him. He still hadn't been told about their meeting.

"If you're sure. Alright. Thank you, Sherlock. You did it again, and I didn't even know it needed doing." Lestrade stood up and shook Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock and John started walking towards the door, keeping considerable distance. Sherlock called over his shoulder, "Oh, and if this process could be started immediately, I'd be appreciative. The Pharmaceutical Convention begins Monday, and having it proceed as scheduled with this information now in light is rather inconvenient to my scheduling." Sherlock walked out the door smirking. Apparently, a war was on.

Sherlock was several paces ahead of John so he had to jog to keep up. "Sherlock! Sherlock wait!" John grabbed his shoulder as he reach the sidewalk. "What did you talk to Mycroft about?"

Sherlock chuckled, "Well, that's an amusing bit, as well. Apparently, our dearest Mycroft fancies young Ms. Madrigal for himself. He was well aware that it was her that approached us. He was the one that signed her visa. He also paid for her hotel. I don't suspect an elicit relationship. She had confided in me that she hadn't had physical relations in over four years. I do not suspect that to be a lie. I suspect Mycroft to be pining greatly after her, though. Understandably. He guarantees no harm will come to her, legally or otherwise. I'm sure any repercussions that fall would be extremely advantageous to Mycroft. For once, he is willing to work with me within his capability. And he has been. It was Mycroft that sent up the false account to allow for the payment of the Palladium. The cab driver? Was also one of Mycroft's men." Sherlock smirked widely. John sighed a very defeated sigh.

"So that's what this is, then? You're competing with your brother?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Christiane…She's just a prize to the two of you. Someone the two of you find interesting. Both of you want her, and you're both trying to prove who's more capable. You are both the most idiotic geniuses I have ever met. If either of the Holmes brothers had a concept of feeling…." John gruffed. "Forget it, Sherlock. You'll figure it out soon enough. I'll get my own cab home. I need to walk a bit."

Sherlock flagged down the cab and hoped in to head to 221B Baker Street.

_John's giving up? Perhaps my experimentation may continue after all. "You'll figure it out soon enough." This is a perplexing sentence. What was he alluding to? Yes, Christiane does have attachments to John. But she clearly had attachments to me, as well. It's simply chemistry. I can easily create the right connection in her to increase a flow of endorphins. I need to appear pleasing so her serotonin flushes her neurons. _

Sherlock contemplated how to get Christiane chemically interested in him until he reached Baker Street. He was a scientist. And attraction was just science. He started up the stairs. This was no problem. More experimenting.


	12. Chapter 12

John's P.O.V

The air was damp as John walked down the dark London streets. Luckily the rain had stopped, though.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

**Hey, John. Are you almost done? Getting' lonely here. Heh. –CM 7:32pm**

John smiled a bit at the text. It warmed his heart.

**Yeah, I'm heading back now. Shouldn't be too long. – JW 7:34pm**

**Alright. Gonna hop in the shower really quick. Should be out by the time you get here. –CM 7:35pm**

**What's on the agenda tonight? ^_^ – CM 7:35pm**

John was taken aback. Did she want to spend more time with him?

**Well, we have to fill you in. After that, play it by ear? – JW 7:37pm**

**Sounds good. Cya soon. –CM 7:37pm**

He was replaying the past 48 hours in his head. From his first breath-taking view of Christiane Madrigal on his doorstep to his infuriatingly dejecting walk-away from Sherlock as he got into the cab. He knew Sherlock was going back to the flat. And he knew that Sherlock was going to try to woo Christiane.

_Selfish git. Everything has to be about what benefits him. He can't bothered to be think about a single other person for 30 seconds. For him, that's more than enough time to figure out what in bloody hell is actually happening. Christiane plainly told me that Sherlock is abrasive. If he tries to get off with her, he's going to chase her off. _

John exhaled sharply, seeing his breath in the autumn air.

He was still quite a long distance from home, and decided to hop into a cab. Instead, a long black, elegant car pulled up next to him. John sighed. The window rolled down.

"I don't really have time to visit Mycroft now," John said turning to the car. He was shocked at what he saw. It was Mycroft himself.

"I understand that, John Watson. That's why I came out myself. Please. I will drive you to Baker Street." Mycroft was formal, but also there was something softer in his voice.

Mycroft's chauffeur pulled open the opposite door for John, and he cautiously got in, not knowing what to expect.

"There is a young woman that approached you and Sherlock about a case yesterday. The case is now completed, correct?" Mycroft started.

"Yes. I know you know that, Mycroft. Please get to the point." John was tired and impatient.

"She is extremely interesting and extremely intelligent. But Sherlock will break her. She is not as tough as she seems. She and I have a personal connection. She has aided me in several endeavors in America. I owe her much. I will be cross if Sherlock harms her in any way. "

"_Personal connection." Is Mycroft saying she's his friend? Hah! Mycroft doesn't have friends. What does he think Sherlock would do? I already know her confidence is an act._

"I don't know what you want me to do. Sherlock wants what he wants. He has no consideration of human emotion." John spit bitterly.

"This is true, John. You are the doctor and the corpsman. Protect her from his arsenal." They pulled up in front of 221B Baker Street.

John was about to get out of the limousine.

"One more thing, John." Mycroft was looking at John very carefully. "As much as I wish it were not the case, Christiane will not have me. However, I would not see her in the hands of my reckless younger brother." Mycroft paused, "I would not oppose to a man such as yourself as a cornerstone of her life. You straightened out Sherlock well enough, and Christiane could use a little doctoring herself." John nodded to Mycroft and headed up the walk to the flat door, pulling his keys out of his pocket.

_I have Mycroft's blessing over his own brother. Odd. Christiane must be much more damaged than she lets on…_

John walked into the flat and froze. His soldier reflexes kicked in and he was assessing the danger of the situation. But all he could do was stare. His mortification glued his feet in place. _I knew this was a horrible situation…_


	13. Chapter 13

Upon walking into the flat, it was obvious that Christiane was in the shower. Sherlock smirked to himself. _This might be easier than I thought._ He hung up his coat and scarf, and silently crept up the stairs. Sherlock leaned against the wall outside the bathroom. Listening to Christiane sing sullenly of unrequited love in the shower.

It pulled, strangely, at his core. A feeling he couldn't identify. Clearly, they had formed a connection. She was – as he established – attractive. She was a challenge to him. A worthy champion of her mind. She, however, let emotions get the best of her. A proclivity of the female gender. Draught with hormonal imbalance. A luxury he was blessed to never contend with.

Her voice was extremely relaxing, though. Her talent was extreme. The dulcet tones washed over him and he couldn't help but feel…whatever it was he was feeling. But music had that effect on him. It was evident when he played his violin. True, the acoustic setting of a bathroom shower amplified the tonality of her vocal performance. But it was obvious she had natural abilities.

He listened to within as he heard the bathing maiden release several great heaving sighs and groans of pain. Confusion graced his face. Was she truly in distress? She clearly didn't know he was there. He permitted her access to the flat with permission to "make herself at home" until he returned. Was she utilizing this time to regain her composure and release her malicious inner turmoil? Sherlock automatically felt very guilty for witnessing what he felt was her very private moment. They had shared their own private moments, but this was personal. Her own. And he intruded.

He pictured her in there singing mournfully leaning against the shower wall as water fell against her brown locks. Proceeding to run rivers through the crevices of her body. Granting access that could only be dreamed in fairy tales. Sherlock's breath hitched.

_No…No this is not right. I am a master of my transport. I do not __**fantasize**__ about woman. _He became mildly aware of his semi-erect penis. _This is greatly alarming. I must investigate this further. This has not happened since The Woman. But Christiane has no such intentions as Irene Adler. She is not out to abuse and manipulate. The woman in the shower harnesses positivity and a tortured anguish, searching for a solution._

Sherlock heard the shower turn off and he straightened his back and refocused his mind, preparing for the confrontation. He replastered his trademark smirk and waited for her to exit. With one last heavy sigh, the door before him opened. There stood Christiane, back in her clothes from the day with a cascade of dripping chocolate falling down her back. She was drying her hair with a white towel when she saw Sherlock. She jumped and gasped at the sight of the tall, lanky man in front of her.

"You know, you give away far more about yourself when you think no one is watching," Sherlock quipped knowingly.

Christiane looked sheepish, "I thought my last name would have been a dead giveaway." She was avoiding what the true topic was.

"You know as well as I do that surnames are a result of breeding?'" They both chuckled for a second.

Christiane shifted awkwardly in her position. Then she went to walk past Sherlock to the living room. As she hit the first stair, Sherlock called out to her. "I still haven't been able to deduce the series of dates tattooed above your right buttock." Christiane visibly tensed and turned around, shooting him daggers.

She spoke through clenched teeth, "I'm not having this conversation with you, Sherlock." She turned sharply away from him. One hand clenching her towel from dear life, the other the wall.

Sherlock steeped his hands under his chin, for the deduction of a lifetime. Yes, Christiane was a challenge. But he believed he had finally solved it. He took a big breath and began, never standing up from the wall, just fixing his unfeeling grey eyes on the back of her head, "Clearly, the dates are a source of shame, judging by the tense reaction and resistance to their mention. They are not children's birthdays since it is evident by your body form that you have no children. They are not deaths of loved ones because they elicit anger not sadness. They are a reminder. Of something you have done that you wish never to repeat. But something you have repeated judging by the fact that there are three dates. The dates are within a decade, spanning from your mid-teenage years to your young adult life. Typically a difficult time of adjustment for any young lady. However, judging by the amount of medication you are on…" Christiane lost all her breath at this and her shoulders sagged and shook. Sherlock was oblivious, lost in his deduction. It was at this point that John had walked into the flat to witness the scene unfolding before him. Flabbergasted and stunned, he could simply watch in a stupor.

Sherlock continued, "You hid it admirable well. To an untrained eye, no one would know. However, I picked up on the subtle agitation whenever we were out consistently around 6:30pm. And you would excuse yourself rather quickly to a bathroom when we'd approach one at that point. Also, there was the vibrating alarm from your cell phone promptly at 9:30am and 6:30pm. Not to mention, the evident clattering of pill bottles in your purse and your luggage. Clearly not just one bottle – many. So, obviously a chronic condition not easily treated with singular medication. Being a Pharmacist, you tend to have a resistance to medication and doctors by nature, so you would not take more than necessary unless your life depended on it." The shaking of Christiane's shoulders grew more violent. Clearly she was silently sobbing. John wanted to slap Sherlock in the face. How could he be so obtuse! But he was frozen. Sherlock prattled on. "Judging by the extremely faint scar on your left wrist – being that you're right-handed, and your proclivity to sleepless nights. My deduction is the dates above your buttocks are suicide attempts, obviously failed. Three to be exact. One being with slit wrist. The others, I can't be sure. This resulting in a mental illness diagnosis and a desperate attempt by medical staff to keep you from another, possibly successful, attempt. Although you are extremely clever….If you really wanted to kill yourself, you would have done it long ago…." For some reason, Sherlock saw this as a compliment. A perverse, twisted comment. Christiane couldn't take it anymore. She bolted from the stairs, dropping her towel. She tried to run past John and out of the door, but John caught her by the shoulders and pulled her into a hug. She didn't want to be there, but John wasn't letting her leave. She could barely stand.

John leaned in to whisper something in her ear. In a minute, she was sheepishly slinking up the stairs and into John's room. She threw herself against the floor in front of John's bed and held her head in her hands, crying.

John took off his damp shoes at the door then hurried up after her. He stopped to shove Sherlock. "Prat!" He screamed in his face. Leaving Sherlock bracing himself against the wall extremely confused. John tentatively knocked on his door, "Christiane? It's John. I'm coming in."


	14. Chapter 14

Sherlock's P.O.V

"Prat!" John had left him bracing himself against the wall. Sherlock was trying to regain his balance when he saw John gently knocking against his bedroom door. Not asking to granted passage, but demanding from Christiane.

He didn't understand why everyone was screaming at him and running away so upset. He was doing what he always did. He was deducing. Accurately, by the judge of reactions. He shook his head, adjusted his clothes, and walked to the living room.

Sherlock was reviewing the case they had just finished. Tying up loose ends.

He kept his nose buried in the case files, nonchalantly. He had no worries that the emotions above him would work themselves out without his interfering. And whenever appropriate, John would tell him to apologize because was, evidentially, being rude. It was not a fault of Sherlock's that people simply were not aware that they were rather more obvious than they would have liked.

He paused…

_She wasn't though. Christiane was so far from obvious. She is clever and intelligent. And her skills at deduction are impeccable, as well. In fact, she has been a rather difficult mystery to unravel. It wasn't until I intruded on her private moment that I was able to piece things together. Even after we engaged in carnal relations, I wasn't able to figure her out. There are still missing pieces, but I believe I figured out a large piece. I felt rather satisfied that I solved her riddle. I thought she would have enjoyed that I paid attention to her enough to observe her for that long. That she didn't bore me._

Sherlock was truly baffled. That woman in John's room was highly intriguing to him. Fascinating even. An enigma. And he pulled away a great solution. Why did no one admire him for that? Why did no one praise him? It was usually John praising him; however, John was rather enraged at the situation.

Sherlock was startled out of his reverie by a shout from the room above him.

"I can't stay here!" It was clearly Christiane. Sherlock knitted his brow.

"_Here?" The flat? London? With me? I must acquire more information on this. Now is not a time for that though. _

He was suddenly aware that that was the first sound that had emerged from the room in a long time. He glanced at the clock.

_27 minutes. 27 minutes of silence in a closed bedroom. Ample time for coitus. I think I would have noticed those sounds, though. However, John is an honorable man. To a fault. He wouldn't take advantage of a weakened woman. Yet, Christiane is vengeful and forceful. She would do such to lash out in revenge at me. _

Sherlock puzzled at the door, feeling a knot twist in his stomach. Baffled more, his eyes widened.

_That's a new feeling. What is that? I felt similar feelings when I caught John oogling Christiane on the morning after our romantic exploration._

It dawned on Sherlock like the many slaps on the face he had received. He suddenly felt very disgusted with himself. Letting out an audible groan, he continued his thoughts.

_Jealousy. What a pitifully human emotion. Must be an influx of testosterone. Clearly…John is now in a closed bedroom, possibly mid- or post-coitus with MY sexual conquest._

Sherlock huffed and clenched his fist.

Rage filled his stomach. He wanted to throw open the door and pull John off of Christiane. He had a primal urge to conquer Christiane and prove his prowess as a mate. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed.

_Juvenile…._

And his nose was back in his case files, but his posture was still tense, glancing up at the bedroom door more than he was comfortable with.


	15. Chapter 15

John gently closed the door and started down the stairs. His eyes didn't leave Sherlock who was studying case files splayed in front of him on the table. John huffed and clenched his jaw.

_Of course. 'Married to his work.'_

Sherlock noticed his presence immediately, being exceptionally attentive to the bedroom door. However, noticing the handle turn, and hearing John's voice approach the door; Sherlock quickened to make himself appear busy and distracted. Nonplussed by the goings-on in the bedroom. He took in John's appearance from his peripheral vision though.

_It was not an obvious post-coital appearance. His clothes did not appear to be a re-dressing. There were wet spots on his jumper, but it seemed to be a translucent fluid as opposed to the more viscous bodily fluids excreted during intercourse. He also appeared extremely tense. Not a typical manner after physical release. The usual side-effect is relaxation of muscles, flood of endorphins, fatigue, perspiration. John was exhibiting none of those. _

Sherlock physically relaxed and sighed a quiet sigh of relief that John had not defiled his mistress. He didn't understand John's tension, though. He was in a high stage of agitation. Sherlock thought that perhaps he had been rude again. John would tell him if he had. The reaction didn't seem to fit Sherlock's original behavior, though.

John's footsteps were heavy as he headed towards the kitchen. Every fiber of his being was trying to avoid a confrontation with Sherlock, knowing in his head it was not going to end in a pleasant way.

The rage and disgust was boiling over inside him. He snapped. His vision was a flush of red, and he could feel the heat burning in his core. John closed his eyes and took a deep breath, giving himself one more chance to not do what he knew he was going to anyway. By the time he opened his eyes again, he was Captain John Hamish Watson, and he was going into battle.

Instantaneously, he was standing over Sherlock who jumped and looked up as if he didn't hear him coming. Maybe he didn't. John had lots of training. He was not right now the "master of his own transport," as Sherlock would say. He was a ball of rage.

"Do you have any idea how much of an idiotic, ruddy GIT, you are, Sherlock?" John was straining through clenched teeth. He pressed his fingertips into the palms. He could feel the flush running up his face.

Sherlock was thoroughly startled by John's appearance. He had never seen John so angry. And clearly it was something he did.

"I don't know what you're referring to, John." It was true. He didn't.

John looked up at the ceiling, hissing in air. "You don't….You don't know what I'm talking about….alright….alright…." His voice was very soft, barely audible. Clearly he was suppressing intense feelings. Sherlock was starting to worry about John's health and mental state. John leaned in very close to Sherlock, inches away from his face. He trapped him in his chair by placing his two gruff hands on either armrest. "You, Sherlock Holmes, destroy people. You break them into tiny pieces. Chewing them up and spitting them out. You have absolutely NO consideration for people's feelings or mental well-being. Someone that thought you had an inkling of interest in her is upstairs just….." John just shook his head. His voice was increasing in intensity. "There is more to this world than FACTS, Sherlock. You live in a world with PEOPLE, believe it or not. And I'm SORRY that offends you so much." John pushed himself off Sherlock's chair and huffed, turning a few paces. "Goddamnit, Sherlock! People have feelings!"

Sherlock looked positively offended. He stood to defend himself. "I keep no secret that I don't do human emotions. I have made it painfully aware that I'm a functional s-"

"Stop! Stop right there, Sherlock!" John was shouting now. "It's not a bloody warning label! If I hear that excuse one more time, I might personally cram you into a facility! Apparently, you are NOT functioning. You may be doing alright for yourself, but you're a right old sod for the rest of us to deal with. You know that, right?!" His rage echoed off the flat walls.

Christiane was sitting on the bed, chewing on her fingernails – a habit long ago forgotten. She stopped when she heard John shouting from downstairs. Her heart sank lower – if that was possible. She sat on the floor next to John's bed and brought her knees to her chest.

_It's just like when Dad and Eric used to fight when I was growing up. Exactly. Me hiding upstairs, getting a bag ready to go hide somewhere for the night. While they shout downstairs. Usually about me. _

She hid her head in her knees and waited for it to be over.

Sherlock was on the attack now. "I'm difficult to deal with? Do you have any idea how infuriating it is to constantly interact with the moronic masses on an incessant parade?"

"But you said so yourself, Sherlock! Christiane intrigued you! She's clever!" John was in Sherlock's personal space, being rather intimidating despite his lack of stature to the taller detective. "Then what the hell did you go and do that to her for?!"

"What did I do?! I just told her what I deduced!? I told her the truth!" Sherlock's voice was raising octaves in outrage.

John shook his head in utter disbelief. "Are you that clueless, Sherlock?" Sherlock threw up his hands to indicate he was. "There are some things you just DON'T bring up to people. People don't like being reminded of their serious life mistakes. Especially when they're moving past them." John's voice was softer and he pulled back from Sherlock trying to get him to understand. "Something like suicide….That's not something to just throw in someone's face. You don't know, Sherlock. You're never the one at the morgue showing the families their deceased loved ones, like Molly. You're never the one breaking the news to parents that "I'm sorry, your son was murdered," like Lestrade. You're never the one telling someone they have cancer and six months to live…." John's eyes were starting to glisten. "You just solve the puzzle, Sherlock…You never deal with the consequences."

Sherlock grew increasingly indignant, "It's not my fault that people don't know how to handle simple factual evidence. Emotions are a sign of weakness." He crossed his arms across his chest.

John just let out a frustrated yell, and threw his hands up. There was no way he would get this thick-headed "genius" to understand this right now. And he was only going to make things worse. "You need to leave the flat for a few days." John was looking him deadpan in the eyes.

Sherlock was feeling the knot of jealousy in his stomach again. Except this time in his already agitated state, it was worming its way up through his chest.

_Out of the flat for a few days? Just John and Christiane here? Alone?! I don't think so…..That's a horrible idea. That will result in nothing but mindless intercourse. She will ultimately find John a more suitable companion than me. That is not acceptable. I am much more suitable a mate than him._

"Why do you want me to leave so badly?! So you can copulate with my mistress in my absence?!" Sherlock shouted it without even knowing what he was saying. He even took himself by surprise. The knot of jealousy flew out of his mouth and wrapped coils around his body. He felt the air being squeezed out of him as if it were a Boa.

Christiane looked up from her knees as Sherlock shouted. She groaned loudly, and buried her head back in her knees.

_His "mistress?!" Oh God….His MISTRESS?! I should have known. Mistress…..Mistress?! In America, we call those " fuckbuddies"….The great Sherlock Holmes does not have love interests. He does not have girlfriends. I should have looked to see how many notches were on his damn bed post. Holy shit….It was too good to be true. A whirlwind adventure by a captivating mind and charming….snake…..A charming snake. Congratulations Eve, you fell out of Eden again. _

Christiane started sobbing again into her knees, wanting very much for someone to hold her. For John to hold her.

John stared at Sherlock for a minute as he let the words wash over him. He turned his back to Sherlock, fighting desperately his impulses. "Mistress…" he muttered. He looked back at Sherlock as he started walking small circles. "Copulate…..with your _mistress…" _He said the phrase with venom. He was in front of Sherlock now but with his back to him still. John started chuckling in a very cynical manner. "Mistress….."

Sherlock was extremely concerned by his friend's reaction. This was extremely uncharacteristic behavior, and he was starting to wonder if he should call an ambulance. It really wasn't like John to cackle…

Sherlock's thoughts were gravely interrupted as John's right fist made contact with his jawbone. Usually Sherlock can see those things coming in a very predictable fashion. But this was sudden and caught him ridiculously off guard. More so that it was from his best friend.

Sherlock stumbled backwards over the living room table, scattering his case files, and landing with a resounding crash.

Christiane jumped up at the noise from downstairs and threw open the door peering downstairs. She gasped at the site of Sherlock laid out over the toppled living room table. John was standing over him huffing in rage. There was already a fist shaped bruise appearing on Sherlock's left jawbone. Christiane froze where she was, her hand at her mouth.

At the same time, Mrs. Hudson came in. Apparently she had heard the commotion, as well.

"Is everything alright, dears, I heard a loud cra- Oh my! What happened?!" She exclaimed, although she already pieced it together.

Sherlock shook himself out of his stun, and rubbed his jaw. With great difficulty, he pried himself off the awkward tumble of furniture and papers. Looking up at the stunned, shaking Christiane, he saw for the first time since his deduction just how much damage he had done.

_Red puffy eyes. Evidence of crying. Hair clearly air dried. Not attended to in her normal routine. Overly wrinkled clothes. Shame and regret. Dry lips. Nervous licking. Slouched posture. Tentative. Shy. Nail-biting nervous habit. Wait….She doesn't bite her nails._

It dawned on Sherlock then. As he did his deducing in that moment that that woman he marveled that intrigued him so was not standing at the top of the stairs. Did he really break her as John said? Sherlock felt very guilty, suddenly. He scanned the faces in the room. Christiane's. John's. Mrs. Hudson's.

He adjusted his clothes. "Nothing happened, Mrs. Hudson. I'm just going away for a few days." He tried to straighten his back to appear unperturbed but between the pain he felt from the landing and his current guilt, there was a slight slouch. He walked past John towards the door and patted his shoulder. "Nice hook."

He took his jacket and scarf off the door, and he was gone.


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock P.O. V

Sherlock left the flat under great duress. His jaw ached immensely; and although he hadn't fully examined himself, he was confident there was superficial damage. At least he had his phone on him. Hopefully, Lestrade would call with a case to occupy him until it was safe to return home. "Home." The word fell bitter on him right now. He currently didn't even feel welcome in his own flat. It's not that he wasn't used to being a vagrant. Sherlock could more than adequately take care of himself for a few days.

He felt extreme guilt for his behavior, though. Seeing Christiane standing atop the landing made his heart ache immensely, and it was obvious how he had betrayed her.

_Betrayal was a logical concept. It had merits in facts. It is to deceive someone that holds value in your trustworthiness or honor or what they perceive it to be, no matter how invalid. Christiane perceived based on our interactions and close contacts that I was trustworthy. A logical deduction based on our association. Originally, she hired me as a consulting detective, a position of necessary trust. Upon initiation of the case, we entered into a carnal relationship. This is also an extremely potent position of trust. Trust with one's sexual release as well as one's bedroom behaviors. She allowed me into a private area of her life space. However, upon making my observations, I was abusing our carnal relationship. I exploited facts I had learned in the confines of our coital exploration in my deduction. In front of John, nonetheless. Another male figure, whom she may or may not have considered a carnal relationship with. He is now privy to facts about her body that intimate parties or morticians tend to be privy to. Well, John is a doctor. However, he lusts greatly after her. This is glaringly obvious. Clearly a breach of the trust she placed very highly in me. _

Sherlock's feet were just leading him through London. He didn't know where. It was without a doubt now though, that he had made an error in judgment. And he had to, as much as he hated to, apologize to Christiane. He valued her too much as an intellectual rival and, yes, a carnal pleasure, to allow her to believe his deceit.

Sherlock looked up and found himself in front of a dilapidated looking apartment building. He sighed heavily.

_My subconscious led me here. Normally, in times of being outcast and forlorn, cocaine is a natural choice. I don't think that would benefit this situation. I think that would further break the trust of both John and Christiane. They are both medical professionals, and extremely health-conscience. If nothing else, it would be incredible irritating to have them fawn over me and rattle my symptomatic behavior as if they were chronicling a medical dictionary. Boring. No. Tempting option, but not a logical choice given the current standing I have in my current admirers' eyes. _

Sherlock turned and started walking in the opposite direction. Instead walking to a pub in the center of London. He had attended this pub a several occasions with John to assist in his efforts at acquiring a temporary or long-term mate. The objective was unclear to Sherlock. Either way, the success rate was extremely poor. Mainly because the demographics of females that attend bars looking for potential partners are whore-ish and unintelligible. Not to mention extremely domineering and brutish. Altogether extremely unattractive qualities in a female.

Sherlock walked into the pub and sat down at a table in the far corner. A waitress walked up to him to take his order.

"What can I get you, sweets?" Sherlock was already irritated with the atmosphere. This was the safer alternative to cocaine, and he needed chemical stimulation.

"Vodka and tonic. Please do not provide the illiterate form of alcohol on the floor you are claiming is vodka. If the bartender can be bothered to get on a ladder, and fetch the vodka from the top shelf, that is what I will be drinking tonight. Tell him not to bother putting the bottle back. "

"Ouf! You don't take it light, do you, hun?" Sherlock just gruffed.

Sherlock tapped his toes impatiently, glancing around the bar. He desperately wanted the burn of the alcohol down his throat. He was his own flagellant and he knew it.

Glancing through the crowds of flirtatious crowds at the bar his mind did a quick "roll call."

_Married. Married. Single. Gay. Single. Married. Cheating Girlfriend. Lesbian. …Transgender. _

Sherlock got an uncomfortable squirm at this last one. There was indeed what appeared to be a rather attractive female at the end of the bar, and she was waving flirtatiously at him and winking. Sherlock was painfully aware that this was actually a male. He turned slightly away to avoid his-her? gaze.

The waitress appeared a second later. She had not only his drink, but an identical drink.

"He's the one you ordered, and here's one from the pretty lady at the end of the bar." Sherlock looked over, and the transgender female was in fact waving to indicate she (he?) sent him the drink. This was extremely baffling to Sherlock. Not only were matters of sexuality confusing (especially blurred sexuality), but matters of anonymous flirtation were even stranger.

"Send it back. And given the recipient this." Sherlock sprawled out a note on his napkin, folded it several times and handed it to the waitress whom had an extremely puzzled look on her face.

"Ex-excuse me?"

"Was I unclear? . . And give the gifter this note." The waitress picked up the second vodka and tonic and hurried away from the table. Handing the napkin and the drink to the transgender at the bar. Whose face went pale under her layers of make-up as she read:

**You're not fooling me. I know you're a man. **

** No**

By the fourth Vodka and tonic, Sherlock was feeling very fuzzy. He never held his liquor well. He was also feeling overwhelmed with emotion. Not pleasant in a certified genius with a body as merely a transport. He had suspected that the bartender was growing weary of Sherlock's arrogance and had increased the Vodka to tonic ration as the drink number escalated. He was starting to think another one wouldn't be a good idea. Before he had time to ponder that idea further, the bartender announced last call anyway. Sherlock decided it was time to close out his tab and brave the cold streets of London autumn.

As Sherlock stood, he was very wobbly. Clearly very inebriated. He struggled to put his coat and scarf on, and as dignified as he could, walked out the door. He noticed a drastic reduction in motor skills and increased vision impairment. However, he managed to stay on the sidewalk. And at almost three in the morning, no one else was out.

Sherlock's Mind Palace looked like it had been robbed. It was tossed and turned and rooted through. Everything scattered. His mind was swirling and his emotions were taking over. He started talking to himself.

"How could I have known that I would hurt her so much," his slurred speech wouldn't have been distinguishable if anyone was listening…which they weren't. "I didn't even know I cared about her so much, so why I know I hurt her? If…If I knew I cared about her, then I would know why I got jealous of John." Sherlock stopped his walking and yelled at the sky. "John, whose prolb…probl..probably getting niiiiiice and close to pretty little lady luxury riiiiiiight now. Yup. I bet that's exactly what's happening. I should march right up those stairs. And walk in his room and be like 'You! John! You're a traitor! You're a heretic!'….But I don't think I could make the stairs…..I don't feel so good….I should sit down." Sherlock plopped himself on the curb. He held his head in his hands and tears started falling from his eyes. It caught him by surprise to fell the wetness from his face so he blotted at his face with his hands. "What? Am I? I'm crying? I've never Cried before?! I'm crying over a GIRL?! Sherlock Holmes is crying over a girl!" He let out a loud laugh "What a true vixen she must be…I should call her….and tell her I'm sorry. Then she'll forgive me and eeeeeverything will be fine. It'll work out. Just see. It'll be fine." He was evidentially talking to the streetlamp because he turned away from it and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He had to stare with his face very close to the phone to make sure he got the right number. When he was sure he did, he called it.

It went to voicemail. He heard her voice on the message and he couldn't help himself. When the beep came to leave his message he was holding back tears:

"Christiane…I am soooooo sorry. So so so so sorry. I know I hurt you. I…I betrayed your trust." He was trying to think back to the deductions he made earlier. Before the intoxication. His volume control was out of sync and he keep raising and lowering his voice at odd intervals. "I took things I learned in the…um….the SANCTITY….the sanctity of the bedroom and I exploited them to soooooolve you. Solved your little mysteriousness. But I did it! I solved you! But I hurt you. And I didn't want to do that. I caaaaare sooooo much about you Christiane. Soooooo much. Plllllease don't hate me. Please? Please? Pretty please? I miss you. I….I hope John's keeping you company. But not TOO much company!...Kay….Bye."

Sherlock hung up feeling very lonely and very sad.

The next thing Sherlock did was the smartest thing he had done all day. He picked up his phone and made another call.

"Lestrade! Lestrade! Guess what? I'm drunk! And I'm sitting in a gutter! Right where I belong….In a gutter! Hah! Won't that make the guys at the Met happy! Sherlock Holmes! In the gutter!"

Lestrade pulled up in front of Sherlock less than ten minutes later and hoisted the drunk detective into the back seat of his car so he could lie down.

"Sherlock, please don't vomit in my car. I like this car." Lestrade was firm, but very tired. It was nearing 4am. He got a muffled response from Sherlock whose head was buried in the car seat.

Lestrade brought Sherlock to his apartment to let him sleep off his ridiculous drunken stupor. And once Sherlock was passed out on the couch, Lestrade texted John:

**Sherlock's here. Piss drunk. Sleeping it off. –GL 4:23am**


	17. Chapter 17

Once Sherlock was gone, John let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked up at Christiane on the stairs with frazzled, concerned eyes. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, "I think I should be asking you that." She tentatively walked down the stairs peeking out the door to make sure Sherlock was gone. She knew he was though. They all did. He made his exit very dramatically with a great slam of the front door.

Mrs. Hudson walked into the living room clicking her tongue, "this will not do. We have to get this cleaned up, right away." She walked over and started picking up papers and folders which clearly had no semblance of order anymore. John did not care to give them such. They were _Sherlock's_ case files – not his. He could deal with them when he learned how to act appropriately. "Where should these papers go, deary?" Mrs. Hudson had her best comforting voice on. John just sighed heavily. He just punched his best friend in the face and kicked him out of the apartment. His head was heavy. And his hand was sore.

"Um….that box over there is fine, Mrs. Hudson, thank you. Just throw it on top." He lazily pointed at the cold cases that Lestrade had brought over.

Christiane had made her way over to John with her arms crossed defensively in front of her. "Thank you….again."

"He had it coming. Such a prat…" John said inaudibly.

Christiane reached out and gingerly took his hand from his side. He winced at the touch. "Must have been some hit, huh? How's it feel?" She gently grazed her finger tips over the bruised and gently scraped knuckles.

"It's a bloody picnic…" John said sarcastically, immediately regretting it. "Sorry. I didn't mean –"

"It's fine. I understand. Once we're cleaned up down here, I'll clean up your hand." She walked over to the mess to start picking up papers and other detritus that had fallen in the tumble.

John cocked an eyebrow at her, "You know I'm a doctor, right?" Doing his best to pick things up with his quickly stiffening hand.

"And I'm a Pharmacist with medical training of my own. Do you have a point? Should we compare licenses? Maybe we could make a full house." She smirked smugly at him. These smirks were different then Sherlock's. They held mirth, and her eyes twinkled with humor. John chuckled at her comment. "You've done some much for me. Just let me do this for you. Unless…ya know…You don't think I'm qualified?" She smirked at him again, daring him to challenge her expertise.

John smirked back, shaking his head gently. "Not at all. I have full confidence in your knowledge. It's that American licensing that bothers me a bit." He winked at her. She rolled her eyes. Together they lifted the living room table and appraised the room. Mrs. Hudson was just doing a little bit of last minute sweeping from a shattered tea mug that had fallen from the table.

_Luckily not mine._ John thought.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." John was suddenly very tired.

"No worries. I know how things can go wirey, right quick. You two just get some rest. I'll bring up some cakes in the afternoon."

"You're too sweet, Mrs. Hudson! Thank you." Christiane was stepping forward to give the landlady a warm embrace. "And thank you for letting me stay in your home."

"The boys pay rent, and you cause no trouble. But you are welcome to stay." Mrs. Hudson turned and walked out the flat with a wave of her hand, shutting the door behind her.

John walked to the door, locking it behind her. He rested his head on the door, sighing forcefully. Christiane came up behind him and placed a hand on his back. "Come on, let's get that hand taken care of."

John went into the kitchen to sit down as Christiane went to the bathroom to gather supplies. She returned moments later with an armful of things. She sat down and analyzed the slight wound on his hand.

"It's really only a scrape, so we won't even need to cover it." He shot her an exasperated look. "Sorry…I'm used to treating people that _don't_ know what I'm doing." She chuckled softly.

She put on a pair of latex gloves, and he gave her a slight incredulous, suspicious look.

_Oh, no! She doesn't think I'm diseased, does she?! What in Heaven's name has Sherlock told her about me!_ Panick started gripping John's heart.

"This is more for your benefit than mine." Christiane could read the fear in his eyes. "I don't want to further contaminate the wound before thoroughly cleaning it. With the residual swelling, there's already an immune response. Once I'm confident that bacterial infection is no longer a risk, I won't worry so much about close contact." She blushed at what the last part implied. John blushed a little, too, but seemed more relaxed at her answer.

She steadily went to work. She didn't quite have the hands of a surgeon as she had a slight tremor, but she was apt at her skills. She took the bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide, and gently applied some to his scrape. The chemical reaction was immediate.

"I know that 'chicks dig scars' and everything, but I figured I'd spare you since you have so many already. So I went with the Hydrogen Peroxide instead of the Alcohol. Equally effective, just not so scarring. I hope you don't mind that I'm not mutilating your flesh." She chuckled and threw him one of those twinkling winks. "Not saying that your scars don't give you a sort of daredevil charm. I just don't want there to be another one in my honor…" She trailed off. Using focusing on his hand as an excuse not to look him in the face. She was even going as far as to clip the loose skin from the scrape. It would become necrotic anyway and just further a risk of infection. Or potentially further widen the injury. But that wasn't standard medical care. It was time-consuming and unnecessary…especially on some scraped knuckles. She was being tender, considerate, affectionate. She wanted to hold his hand for as long as she could. To show her appreciation. Her nerves were evident in her babbling.

"It would have been a scar well earned." He put his good hand on her wrist. It brought her gaze up from her work to meet his soft, blue, oceanic eyes and his caring smile. Her heart warmed and she smiled back. She applied some Polysporin to the wound, and got up to get him an ice pack from the freezer. She wrapped it in a thin towel, and placed it on the most predominate swelling of his hand.

"Now, no more punching things for, I'd say, 3 weeks. Keep the wound clean, and watch for redness around the edges and heat coming from it. That would indicate an infection. Ice on for 20 minutes/off for 20 minutes….unless you get lazy or forget or can't be bothered. Ibuprofen for pain - unless you're too much of a tough guy, man's man. Then just suck it up and no one wants to hear your bitching. " She was saying this in a very condescending manner, batting her eyelashes and her hand on her hip. John couldn't help but let out hearty laughter. She couldn't help but laugh at herself, too. The night had not gone anywhere that either of them planned.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

Christiane paused, "I'd still like to sleep in your room, if that's okay."

"Oh!" John really hadn't thought of that by this point. With Sherlock gone, his room was now vacant. "Yeah, that's no problem, Christiane."

"And another thing, John?"

"Hm?"

"I really don't like being called 'Christiane'…"

"Wait…That's your name though, right? That's what you introduced yourself as. And that's always what Sherlock calls you." John was baffled. When they took the case from her, she undoubtedly introduced herself as "Christiane Madrigal." He had it in his notes.

"Well, yes, that is my name. And I introduced myself as that when we were working together in a business fashion. I don't think nicknames are appropriate in that setting. And Sherlock always calls me that because he's a formal, stubborn asshole that doesn't know how to listen." Christiane huffed a little. John had to give her credit, though. It all made sense.

"What do you like to be called, then?" He wanted to make her as comfortable as possible. He also felt like they were opening some secret door of friendship.

"Chris. Just Chris."

John smiled. It was cute. Simple and cute. "Alright, 'just Chris,'" he said in a playful mocking tone. "I'm going to follow through on my promise for tea, if you'd like?" Chris nodded.

John got up from his chair, unwrapping the ice pack, and discarding it in the sink. He could deal with it later. Chris stepped forward to give him a quick hug around the neck as she whispered in his ear, "Thank you." She walked into the living room to get her shoes on. They still had to make a trip to her hotel.

John busied himself making two cups of tea. Setting the kettle on to boil, he couldn't help but think of the things that had brought them to this.

_We take an international Pharmaceutical contamination case. Sherlock's not bored anymore. She thinks they're getting serious while he's just running his riddle games. He figures out his mystery and tosses her aside. Enter Doctor John Hamish Watson to save fair maiden from interminable destruction and despair. Whoa….That sounds so cheesey. Is that really how it happened? She didn't really pay me any mind while she was whatever-ing with Sherlock. All of a sudden, I'm her best friend. I can't say that I blame her. Sherlock can be….time-consuming. I'll just have to see where this goes. _

He realized the tea kettle was whistling, and he had no idea for how long. He poured the two cups of tea, and brought them to the living room. Sighing as he placed the two cups on the table.

Yes, this was going to be an interesting few days. To say the least.


	18. Chapter 18

John and Chris were heading out the door and hailing a cab to gather her things. They sat in comfortable silence on the way to the hotel. They didn't need to say anything. So much had been said already. Besides, John planned on having a personal discussion with her when they returned. One she would _not_ want in the cab.

They walked into her room, and she started gathering a small carry-on bag of basic things.

"Is that it?" John quipped as she zipped up her bag.

"Should be. I'll know for sure tomorrow." She scoffed.

They took the elevator down to the lobby, and Chris gave a forwarding number for any messages she might receive. It was all quick business. "Thank you again, John. I can't tell you how much this means to me." They were heading back to 221B.

"Don't thank me just yet." Chris tensed slightly, half expecting what was to come. They remained silent until they entered the apartment again. This time more precipitated tension between them. John was a calming presence, but Chris was a bundle of anxiety.

Chris barely placed her bag by the door when John went into the kitchen and leaned against the counter.

"I know you don't want to talk about this, but I need to know. What Sherlock said…How much of it was right?" Chris's shoulders slumped.

"All of it. Every damn word. God. He's so friggen insufferable!" She hissed the last line through clenched teeth. John could see her defeat and her seething. He motioned her over to him. She shuffled her feet into the kitchen and up to him. She gingerly looked up to him. He took her hand, and he pulled her into a hug. She sighed into him as he wrapped his strong, muscled arms around her.

"This is going to make you very uncomfortable. But I need to know what medicines you take. I need to know a little about your medical condition." Chris groaned loudly. "I'm sorry, Chris, but you know why I'm asking. I'm a doctor. And I'm your friend. If something, anything, should happen to you. I wouldn't know how to properly treat you because I wouldn't have all the information. It could go horrible wrong very quickly." He squeezed her gently around the shoulders, encouraging her. She sighed heavily and pulled away to retrieve her luggage. She dragged her feet across the room. It was like a defiant child being told to clean their room. John couldn't help but find this adorable.

She plopped the luggage on the sofa, and John followed into the living room. Chris pulled out a larger-than-expected mini bag in deep purple. It matched all her other luggage. "This is my medicine bag. It's got everything except what's in my purse." She tossed the main luggage on the floor, and kneeled on the floor. She pulled out bottle after bottle of prescriptions. As the pile of amber viles grew on the cushions, John grew increasingly sad for this woman before him. He hadn't realized just how ill she was. "And that's all of it. The rest is emergency OTC. Pink Bismuth and the like." John nodded. He glanced over the pile, taking it in. He counted eight viles. She said there were more in her purse. His heart grew heavy in his chest.

He picked up vile after vile reading the names, dosages, and the directions. "Are the dosing directions accurate on all these to how you're taking them?"

"As far as the daily medications, yes. But a lot of those are PRNs, so the instructions are pretty useless anyway." John understood. PRNs were things you took only when you needed them, so they pretty much had to figure out the most you could possibly need in a given time and prescribe you that amount based on those instructions.

"You're not the filling Pharmacist on these." John commented.

"Noooo, I'm not. I find that highly unethical." John shrugged. He was pulling several mood stabilizers and several anti-depressants out of the pile. Heartburn medicine, migraine medicine, sleep aids. It seemed endless.

"What's in your purse?"

"Lorazepam 0.5mg PRN" John sighed. Anti-anxiety.

"What exactly is your diagnosis?"

Chris swallowed hard. She was trying to be very clinical about this. One medical professional to another. But this was John. And this was her dark corner. They weren't talking medications anymore. They were talking her bats in the belfry. John noticed her discomfort and took her hand in his.

"When I was discharged from Afghanistan, I was a wounded soldier. I went into therapy because I had a lot of issues to work out. The doctor told me I had PTSD, and I had also developed a psychosomatic limp in my leg from the bullet in my shoulder." He was rubbing circles in the back of her hand, trying to soothe her. "I still get nightmares constantly about the combat. I know it's something that's going to take a long time to get better. I'm not delusional. I know it may NEVER get better. But sometimes hiding these things? Makes it a lot worse."

Chris didn't feel so alone right then. John was sharing his story. Although she was in a foreign country and her only (proven) friend was right here holding her hand, she suddenly felt like she had all the people in the world surrounding her.

She lowered her chin a little bit. "I have Borderline Personality Disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder." She left it at that. John nodded.

"So the heartburn, migraine, and sleep meds?"

"The heartburn and migraine are mainly to combat side effects of the other meds. The sleep meds are only because my doctors don't listen to me. If you'll notice that bottle is full. And I don't want anything to do with it. Ever. Yes, I have atrocious sleep. Some nights, I don't get any sleep at all. But I will NEVER take another sleep aid in my life." Her eyes were very fixed at a point across the room, and she was shaky subtlety. Suddenly John understood very clearly.

"The other two attempts?" Chris nodded solemnly. "Clearly the same doctor you had then didn't give you these." She shook her head slowly. He pulled her onto his shoulder, feeling the pain she was going through inside. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She stayed rigid. Unmoving. John sighed. He righted her, and stood up with the bottle of sleeping pills in his hand.

"This! This is too much of a temptation for you." And he started walking towards the bathroom. Her head shot up from her focus.

"What are you doing?!" There was panick in her voice. John was going up the stairs and had his hand on the doorknob of the bathroom.

"I'm being the strength you need." He walked into the bathroom, and Chris flew off the floor and chased him down.

"John! Don't!" She tried to grab the bottle out of his hand before he opened it and dumped it down the toilet. He gently put his hand in her chest to hold her at arm's length.

"You know having this around is just tormenting yourself, Chris. Don't give yourself the option. Don't give yourself that emergency exit. This is too strong of an urge."

"No! Please, John! Don't do it! You don't understand!" She fell to her knees crying hysterically. He joined her on the floor, wrapping his arms around her, the bottle still in his hand.

"I understand more than you think." He was rubbing her back. He wanted so desperately to kiss away her tears. He felt like she needed it. Like she needed someone to love her. And God did he want to be the one to love her. It felt right to be the one to hold her and protect her. To drag her through her darkness. To share with her his dark corners to show her that hers aren't so different. If she would just let him. He had pined for her since they first got to know her on the case. She was breathtaking in every sense. In her movements, her mannerisms, her speaking. She has this spark. And then…Sherlock happened. Sherlock ALWAYS happens.

But now here was John. The loyal soldier. Always cleaning up Sherlock's messes. Honestly, though? This is one he would clean up a thousand times over.

He pressed a firm kiss to the top of her head. She sighed into it, pushing deeper into his embrace. Was it just because she needed the contact? Or did she feel something for John, too? John couldn't possibly know that right now.

"You're going to get through this. Do you know how I know?" He picked up her tear-stained chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. She shook her head meekly. "Because I'm not leaving your side until you do." She buried her head back into his chest and clung to the back of his shirt. He took that opportunity to pull the two of them to standing position. She released the embrace and looked at him in expectance.

"Okay." She squeeked.

"Okay?" He asked in confirmation. She nodded. "Okay. Then let's do this together." He took her hand and walked her over to the toilet. He handed her the bottle. She starred at it as if it was possessed. He rubbed the small of her back. She undid the cap and held the open bottle over the water of the bowl for a minute. John reached over with his free hand, and gripped hers in his. Together, they tilted the bottle and watched all 30 tiny blue pills plop into the water. Chris closed her eyes and sigh with relief. John reached over and flushed them down.

"I'm proud of you." He said warmly. She grabbed him around the neck.

She lightly grazed his neck with a kiss. It sent sparks flying to every crevice of his body, and he had to squeeze his eyes tightly close to not ravage her in kisses in return. He did tighten his gripe slightly on her waist, though. "Thank you so much," She whispered into his collarbone. "I owe you, big time."

"Stop saying that." John chuckled, pulling away from the embrace to look down at her.

"Why? It's true."

"No, it's not. You don't owe my anything. Do you think I would do this if I didn't want to?"

"Yes." She answered a little too quickly for John's taste. He rolled his eyes.

"Come on. You need sleep." She walked out of the bathroom and to John's bedroom. He turned to the mirror and scrubbed his face with his hands.

"What are you doing, John Watson?" He said to himself in the mirror. "Do you realize how utterly insane this is? The whole thing? Every step. You better keep it in your pants buddy." With that he slapped himself across both cheeks to get his mind right. He went in to his bedroom a minute later and Chris was putting her luggage back in the corner, her medicine safely tucked back in its case.

John took some pajamas out of his drawer, and looked over at Chris. "I'm going to go change in the bathroom." It dawned on her that she was very much a guest here.

"Oh! Oh! No, John! This is your room! I have to go brush my teeth anyway. You change here, and I'll go do my thing. I'm sorry." She grabbed some things out of her bag, and shuffled out of the room before he could protest.

As John was changing into his night clothes, his was painfully aware of his half-erect penis. He buried his face in his hands. He had Sherlock's voice ringing in his ears _It's just Chemistry, after all._

_What did I say, John. Keep it in your pants! I understand that it's been painfully long since you've been that close to a woman….well….a living one, but this is NOT the time to be putting the moves on Chris. Ugh! I don't want to be the guy that took her mind off Sherlock Holmes….I want her, if she so chooses, to be with me because she wants to be with me. Not because Sherlock cast her off, and I'm the first half-way decent guy to take her in his arms. Bollocks…._

He was pulling a tee-shirt over his head when there was a gentle knock at the door. "John, are you decent?"

He looked himself up and down, and shrugged. Here goes nothing. He walked over to the door and pulled it open. "Come on in, you're late for the party." He chuckled, trying to get her to laugh. It worked. She let out a girlish giggle.

_Oh whoa. I haven't giggled like that since High School. Is John really making me giddy like that? Ugh. Damn womanhood. Reducing me to a pile of giggling stupidity at a nice ass and a big pair of blue eyes. _

John turned away from the door to let her in. He was fusing about his room, tidying little things here and there.

He bent over to pick up his recently discarded clothes and started muttering something about sleeping arrangements but it was lost on Chris. She was thoroughly entranced by the image the lay before her.

_I was joking when I said a nice ass, but that is a very, very nice ass. _

Chris tipped her head to one side and really wasn't listening to John as he struggling to gather his shoes and all his other clothes in one armful. She was just very grateful for this moment that he was a little clumsy. He finally picked up his clothes and stood up. She gruffed a little to herself, but his back was still to her so it wasn't all bad. He was wearing a tee-shirt, which was far from his normal attire. And you could easily see his back muscles ripple under the thin fabric as he dropped his dirty laundry in the hamper. She thought of running her hands over each of those muscles. She bit her lip to try to keep herself from letting out a soft moan of delight.

"Did you hear me, Chris?" John turned around, and she quickly snapped out of her fantasy, but not before he caught a glimpse of her with her head tilted and biting her lip.

_Was she checking me out? She was full on staring at me. And whoa, was that look she was giving me seductive. I don't know how well this is going to work if she keeps staring at me like she wants to devour me whole. I hope I can do this._

"Sorry, I was thinking." _About your fine body. _She smirked devilishly. "What did you say?"

"I was saying that I have no problem sleeping on the floor if you want the bed. There are extra pillows and blankets all over the place so it's not going to be uncomfortable at all." John was trying to keep his distance and keep her comfortable.

_Always the gentleman._ "Oh…I was actually hoping, if it's okay with you, of course….That you would…um….hold me while we slept?" Chris asked tentatively, not knowing how it would go over. It was screamingly obvious about John's attraction to her. But she also knew he was trying not to over step his bounds. But she really wanted to be held tonight. It had been a helluva day. And well….Maybe pushing boundaries with John wouldn't be such a bad thing, now would it?

And there was that hope bubble exploding in a cascade of pleasurable warmth throughout his body. Acceptance. Want. Affection. "Yeah, sure. If that's what you want, I have no problem with it."

Chris's face lit up like a little girl getting a new doll. "Yay!" _Did I actually just say "Yay"?_ John chuckled, bemusedly. "I'm getting kind of tired, though. It's been a long day. I don't know if you are..." She left it hanging for him to answer freely.

"Exhausted. I thought you'd never ask." They both chuckled. John pulled back the covers of his bed. Turning off the light, he got on one side and Chris got on the other, meeting in the middle. They were both very shy about it. John propped up on his elbow to look at her as she rested on her arm. The moonlight filtered in through the curtains and cast a glow on each other them to see by."He'll be back you know. He always comes back." It was a question no one asked, but John wanted to assure her if she had any doubts.

"Ya know? Right now? I just don't give a shit." John blinked in absolute shock. His jaw fell open a bit, and he tried to articulate words, but none would form. "Let me put it to you this way, _Doctor_ Watson," Something tickled his groin the way she called him that with the particular emphasis on his title. He knew he had a thing for his authority, but coming from her lips? It took on a whole new tone. "I was very much privy to the comments, or rather, flagrant shouting of his declaration to me being his 'mistress.'" John winced at her statement.

"You heard that?"

"Oh, yeah. I heard it. Loud and obnoxiously clear. Something about his fear that you would copulate with his mistress in his absence." John pursed his lips to the side looking at her with an I-don't-know-where-he-gets-these-things look. "And I think it goes without saying that that term of endearment does not sit well with me. I have been called a LOT of things in my time, Doctor Watson" There goes that shock to his groin again. "But a 'mistress'? Sorry. I will have none of that. And for someone to view me as that? Obviously has no concept of any of my values. So, dear, deductive Holmes. I fear you are not as astute as you believe. I reiterate: I don't give a shit if he comes back or not. Because it's not going to be for me. And if it is? I'm not going for it. How do you Brits say it? He can sod off!"

John blinked back his shock again. Someone declaring such passionate feelings for Sherlock. He had no doubt she would profess them to his face either. She was a spitfire. And Sherlock openly admitted that she was a worthy adversary. Maybe it was a poor decision to get on her bad side. John sat up and literally started clapping for her. She was so taken aback by his reaction that she started laughing uproariously.

"You, Ms. Madrigal, are amazing. And I really hope I am there when Sherlock walks through that door and you grant him whatever fate you see fit. The look on his face will be priceless! I might have to break out the camera! This might go on the blog: Sherlock bested by buxom brunette." John suddenly turned three shades of crimson realizing how he referred to her. He tried to hide his face in his shoulders, unsuccessfully.

She quirked an eyebrow, "Buxom brunette?" John let off an awkward chuckle. She nodded. "I like it. How long have you been cooking that up?" John's eyes darting.

"Oh, not long."

"Liar!" Chris started laughing hysterically falling back on the bed, and there was a look of utter incredulous guilt on John. Wiping a tear of laughter from her eye, she perched herself up on her elbow. John was now smirking at her. She reached over and tousled his short blonde hair. "You're somethin' else John Watson, ya know that?" She sighed and curled into his chest.

"I guess it's time to sleep?" He cooed reclining fully to give her better access to his torso.

"Yeah, close enough." She left out a soft laugh. "Thanks for ending tonight on a high note, John."

"No worries. Thanks for my hand." He said wrapping said hand around her, pulling her in closer to him. She groaned a response. Her head was in the crock of his shoulder, her torso wrapping around him like a vine. Her right leg was gently thrown over his. She placed a hand on the center of his chest over his heart.

"This is nice," she muttered into his shoulder. He hummed a response unable to take his eyes off her relaxing face. She looked so peaceful and calm. Serene even. He took his free hand and moved the lock of her hair from her face to behind her ear, gently ghosting his thumb over her cheekbone. She nuzzled into him further at the touch and cooed in response.

John clenched his eyes tight and swallowed a lump in his throat. He was being washed over with very intense feelings, and he couldn't let them get the better of him. He just wanted to kiss her and love her and protect her. Take her away from the evils in her life. He had watched her come in and out of the flat for a few days now. So playful and carefree. Such wanton abandonment and confidence. She was effervescent and contagious. Magnanimous. And John could always feel her vibrating from deep within him when she was anywhere near. He knew she wasn't his to affect him like this. But right that second. In that moment where she was curled up in his arms in his bed…it felt like she was. And he wanted her to be so badly. He took a deep breath. And swallowed again but his throat was very dry. He felt a tear roll down his cheek.

_No, no, no….Not now. Gather yourself, Watson. Don't fall apart. You can have your own crisis once you've put her back together. She needs you now. She needs me…..She needs me. _

The revelation made John giddy, and there was a second tear. And a third. Then there were rivers. It had been so long since someone legitimately needed him and appreciated him. He looked down at her again. It was hard to tell if she was sleeping or just relaxing. He leaning his chin on the top of her head to increase their contact. She cooed again, so it must have worked.

He took in her smell. It was a soft, sweet smell. A hint of vanilla and, humorously, sterility. I guess from all those years being a medical professional, she could never stop smelling like one. He smiled at the thought. Nothing wrong with smelling clean. He felt her plump, supple flesh against his. Her gentle warm breath through his tee-shirt. He took it all in. He didn't want to fall asleep. Just enjoy the moment.

Soon, he couldn't fight it anymore. He gripped Chris a little tighter. Just his insurance that she wasn't going anywhere. Although she had been asleep for quite a while, she automatically curled closer to him at the prompt. John succumbed to sleep blissfully enjoying his current position. Not even thinking what tomorrow would bring.


	19. Chapter 19

Sherlock P.O.V.

Sherlock was slowing coming out of his unconsciousness on Lestrade's couch. Before he even opened his eyes, he felt the separation in his skull. He groaned loudly and pressed his fingertips into his eyelids.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Lestrade's voice appeared from somewhere above him. "Here. Take these. It'll help."

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes into the dimly lit apartment. He gradually sat up and took the pain relievers and water that the DI was handing him.

"Why am I here?" Sherlock was trying to search his Mind Palace for the previous night's events, but it was in shambles. Picking through the ruins made his temples throb.

"Do you really not remember anything?" Lestrade crossed his arms and peered down at him, scrutinizing him.

"Obviously not. If I could, I would not be asking. Please, I do not have the capacity to deal with idiocy right now." Sherlock was sitting flush against the back of the sofa now.

Lestrade sighed and pulled up and nearby stool. "Well, since you asked so nicely, I'll tell you what I know. But there are a lot of blanks that you'll have to figure out yourself." He scowled at Sherlock. He had his share of hangovers and drunken blackouts. There were quite a few over the separation of his wife, as well. "Apparently, you and John had a rowe over a girlie, and he threw you out of the apartment. You did that thing you did to the girl and messed her up pretty bad." Sherlock's recollection was coming in clearer. His face fell.

"Yes. Yes, I did."

Lestrade raised his eyebrows at Sherlock's admission. "You called me after three in the morning piss drunk. You were blabbering on about some fancy –I could only assume the woman – and how much you did her bad. How sorry you were and all that. I brought you to my flat. You passed out. And here we are." He shrugged finishing his story.

Sherlock still had a throbbing in his skull, but the pain medicine was slowly kicking in. He scanned his memory for some symbols of last night. He put his hands in his pockets for some clues. _A receipt for a bar in central London: 5 vodka and tonics. _Sherlock took out his wallet. _Must have walked to get there. Not missing more than the tab and tip. No cab fare._ It was coming in waves. Him standing in front of his old score-house. Him powering down drink after drink and stumbling into the night. Sherlock frantically looked for his phone. And checked the call log.

**Out going**

**G. Lestrade **

**3:36am, Today**

**Duration 9:07**

**C. Madrigal**

**3:12am, Today**

**Duration 6:13**

Sherlock's eyes widened and his heart shattered on the floor. He tightened his grip on the phone. "I called her," he said in a barely a whisper.

"What'd you say there, Sherlock?" Lestrade was milling around the kitchen now, making them some tea.

"I called her. Before I called you. I called her." There was shock in his voice. He stood and put on his coat.

"Where are you going? Now's not the time to be rushing out the door. You had a lot to drink last night. I can tell that it's not quite right in your head right now."

"Thank you for the hospitality, Lestrade, but I must leave. I need to think." Sherlock walked out the door.

He was walking the streets of London knowing full well he needed to clear his mind. The thoughts he was having were tainted by the lure of cocaine. He knew it would bring him back to clarity. Let him see what he had done. Take away the horrible emotions he was feeling. He wanted that so desperately.

He already felt as if there was so much damage in his relationships with both John and Christiane. He didn't know much about emotions, but it was logical to see that drunken ramblings after three in the morning were not taken kindly.

The temptation was too strong.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Sherlock found him in a familiar yet unsavory neighborhood. Taking sure-footed steps up the decrepit stairs he knocked firmly on an unnumbered door. He rapped on the door to have it pulled open, held with a chain lock from the inside.

A thin, sickly looking young man was standing in the crack of light. "Oh, it's you." With that he shut the door. He opened it a minute later and handed something to Sherlock out of line of sight, near his hips. Sherlock slid something else into his hand at the same time.

"Good luck to your daughter on her dance recital," Sherlock said as he walked away from the door, the man he left there looking nervously after him. Smirking as her fingered the package in his pocket, Sherlock walked out of the building and to his own private little corner of London. Where he knew no one would bother him.

There he would forget the throbbing in his head and his heart. If just for a little while. He would clear his mind and try to think of what happened and what to do next. He would analyze. He would deduce. And he would fix this – if he could.

…And he would try not to get caught this time…


End file.
